


shackled to their dead

by SydneyHorses



Series: Shackled to their Dead [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Dissociation, Eventual Happy Ending, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Miscommunication, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: If Sylvain is being honest with himself, he's not sure if any of them have been friends for years. They certainly aren't friends like they were as children - nothing is easy and carefree these days. Dimitri is more a caricature of a prince than a man, Ingrid has a wild look in her eye that Sylvain doesn't know how to deal with, and Felix barely speaks of anything but his sword. He doesn't know what to do about it, but they can't go on like this much longer.or: a summary of how things fall apart
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Shackled to their Dead [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738789
Comments: 47
Kudos: 200





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is going to be part character study, part retelling of the game, and will cover events that happen in the 5 years we miss out on and scenes from character's childhoods! The canon divergence will start around the timeskip, up until then the fic should follow the events of the game pretty closely.  
> I have a lot of Thoughts about Glenn Fraldarius and you will all have to hear them. Sylvain is my favorite character in the game and I really wanted to write something that was centered around him, and in addition I knew I wanted to explore the Blue Lions as a whole since I love their group dynamic. 
> 
> I have about 10k written as of me writing this, and i'm expecting this fic to be about 30 or 40k total. I said 10 chapters, but that number might change. Rating is Teen for now, but it will likely go up at some point. Please let me know what you think!

The last time Sylvain knew how to take care of the others was at Glenn's funeral. There’d been no body to put on the pyre, and so they’d stood around and toasted the memory of a dead boy. He barely remembers the service, but the memory of the heat from the bonfire is pristine. He, Ingrid, and Felix had been too close, as though they were hoping that the fire would burn up their memories of Glenn as well. Ingrid had clung to his arm and sobbed until her throat was scraped raw and she was choking on her tears, and then continued on even after that. Felix hadn’t said a word, even after his father extolled Glenn’s valor and all of the living had turned their gazes towards the future Duke Fraldarius. He had stayed close to Sylvain’s side the whole night, the two of them not quite touching but close enough that Sylvain could feel the heat from Felix’s body and could almost feel the slight trembling from Felix as if it were his own.

Dimitri was a dark shape hovering just outside the light cast by the funeral pyre. It was all Sylvain could do to remember he was there at all. He’d been motionless the entire service, his hand clutching a glass tightly and his mouth sealed shut. Sylvain had untangled himself from Ingrid after the toasts were done, giving her over to the comfort of her father’s arm around her shoulders. Felix, almost boiling over with emotion, had pulled Rodrigue aside to pick a fight, and so Sylvain had walked over to stand with Dimitri, smiling charmingly at the other mourners and talking to them so they didn’t notice that their future king hadn’t moved a muscle in hours.

Miklan had been on the edge of his vision all night, his face dark and his smile secretive. Sylvain didn’t think that anyone else noticed - no one else was as used to studying Miklan’s expressions as him, always watching for a sign that marked the coming of something dangerous - but Miklan had looked pleased.

Afterwards, Sylvain dragged the others away from the adults, and the four of them holed up in Felix’s room in the Fraldarius estate until Ingrid stopped crying and Dimitri regained a little of the color in his face. Felix stopped shaking after who knows how long, and in the absence of everything they’d once known, they’d curled up onto Felix’s bed and fallen asleep together. In the morning, Sylvain had woken to them all tangled around each other: Dimitri a heavy weight on top of his right arm, Ingrid crammed in between the two of them, a chunk of her hair in his mouth, and Felix on his left side, curled so tight around him that Sylvain didn’t think he could move an inch if he tried. It had been one of his better mornings. Even at sixteen, Sylvain had been intimately aware that his bloodline wasn’t one that got a lot of good mornings.

Such a scene had been commonplace when they were children visiting each other’s estates, but the older they had gotten the more such things became frowned upon. They were all to be married someday, and though their fathers were pleased they were friends, their duties to their country were far more important.

For the first time since Glenn’s death, it occurred to Sylvain that Ingrid was now without a betrothed. He pressed his face into her hair and she made a small noise in her sleep, shuffling a little closer to him. The Tragedy of Duscur, as it was coming to be called, had stolen something irreplaceable from all of his friends: Dimitri was without a family, Felix was missing his brother, Ingrid had lost her best friend and best chance for a secure future, and Sylvain was in the same boat as he’d always been.

Trust him to make a massacre that’d ruined his friend’s lives all about him.

-

It’s Imperial Year 1180, and the officer’s academy is a fucking dream. Their new professor is odd, but she’s nice to look at, and most of the other women in the academy are pretty easy on the eyes as well. Dimitri and Felix still aren’t on speaking terms, sure, but that’ll sort itself out. And yeah, Ingrid is more uptight than ever, and Felix refuses to do anything except train, but Sylvain has a whole school worth of new friends. He can avoid his friends’ problems as well as his own for a bit.

The other Blue Lions are a handful, but Professor Byleth seems well-equipped to deal with them. Within a month, it seems like everyone, even Felix, is half in love with her. Sylvain’s not convinced.

“I can’t believe the professor didn’t know she had a crest,” Sylvain says out loud, scowling.

Dedue looks up from his homework, but doesn’t reply. Sylvain likes Dedue, likes how he knows how to occupy a silence without making it stagnant. Sylvain is, as a rule, a loud person, but Dedue makes him want to remember how to be quiet. 

“It seems that the professor does not know quite a bit about themselves,” Dedues says.

Sylvain leans back in his chair, tipping his head up towards the ceiling. The two of them are in the Blue Lions classroom, finishing up work before dinner. Sylvain isn’t quite sure when Dedue became his study partner, but it’s kind of nice. Dedue’s easy to get along with - it’s good Dimitri has someone like him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Dedue turns the page of his book, the scratch of a quill filling the room. “You don’t trust her.”

It’s a statement, not a fact, and Sylvain’s pleased that Dedue is the one to have picked up on it, not Ingrid or - goddess forbid - Dimitri. Dimitri, who looks at the professor with the same complicated expression he used to wear around Glenn as a boy. “I don’t know,” Sylvain says. “It’s not that I don’t trust her, I just think we should maybe hold our cards a little closer to our chests, you know? It’s barely been a month.”

Dedue nods, tapping his finger on the table. “You may be correct. I will keep a close watch on her around his Highness.”

Sylvain sighs, “I guess that’s the best we can ask for. Let me know if anything seems off, yeah?”

Dedue nods again, “Of course.” He pauses, “However, I will say that she has been nothing but courteous. I understand your reasoning for being slow to trust, but I would advise you to think on if that reasoning comes from within, rather than from any outward signs of her duplicity.”

Dimitri’s lucky to have Dedue. Fuck, they all are. Sylvain swallows and drags his attention back to his homework, “Right. Of course.”

-

Two months later, and they’re all still just fine. Sure, they’ve killed some people, and sure, Sylvain sometimes wakes up with the taste of blood in his mouth, but they were always going to be soldiers. Better they get used to it sooner rather than later.

It’s during the Garland Moon that things really get bad. The news comes at the beginning of the month, and the professor’s eyes are heavy as she looks at them all. Annette keeps whispering to Mercedes, who’s valiantly trying to pretend like she doesn’t hear, even as she responds herself. Sylvain grins at Ingrid over Felix’s shoulder and she rolls her eyes, so he responds how any sane person would and yanks on her braid. Ingrid squeals and hits his shoulder, and then Felix snaps at both of them, and it’s about to dissolve into a full argument when Byleth clears her throat.

“I have our assignment for the month,” she says.

They don’t settle down exactly, but they pause in their antics for a moment to listen. Byleth looks at Ashe, her face not giving anything away. “We’re being sent to suppress a rebellion by Lord Lonato Gaspard. It should be low risk, and we’ll be travelling along with Catherine.”

“What?” Ashe says, his voice trembling.

“I know,” Byleth says.

“I-” Ashe’s voice cracks. “Lonato?”

The rest of them are silent, their cheer from moments ago long forgotten. “I know,” Byleth says again. Sylvain isn’t sure what else there is to say. The Blue Lions close their ranks a little, slight enough that Sylvain isn’t sure anyone else would have noticed. One of Annette’s hands curls into a fist, and Mercedes steps a little closer to Ashe. Dimitri’s expression goes blank and he squares his shoulders. Dedue, just in front of Dimitri, rests a hand on Ashe’s shoulder. Ingrid, on Ashe’s right side, presses their shoulders together. Felix shifts, almost imperceptibly, so that he’s just a hair in front of the rest of everyone else. None of them seem to think it through, not even Sylvain, who narrows his eyes and angles his body inwards, towards Ashe and the rest of them.

The professor isn’t a threat, but they need to protect Ashe. If only they’d known beforehand, they could have spared him some of this heartache.

“I asked Lady Rhea to send another class,” Byleth says. Her voice is as emotionless as ever, but there’s a slight furrow in her brow belaying her frustration.

Ashe shakes his head, “No. It’s okay.” His voice is hollow, wooden. It is not okay. This is a cruel thing that is happening to their friend, and they’re going to be complicit in it.

Sylvain is aware that all of them, himself included, are looking at the professor expecting her to fix this for them, which is foolish. It’s like he’s always known: they’re soldiers first and foremost, damn everything else. This is just Lady Rhea making sure that the rest of them know that too.

Byleth extends a hand to Ashe, “Come have a cup of tea.”

Ashe shakes his head, “I think I want to be alone.”

Byleth’s hand drops. None of the Blue Lions move. “No lessons today. If anyone needs anything, I’ll be fishing.”

Dimitri nods, “Thank you, Professor.”

All of the professor’s movements are deliberate, something Sylvain likes about her. Her movement is fluid and easy to follow, and there’s a sort of safety that comes from the knowledge that once she starts an action, it will be finished. In battle, the professor’s follow through after cleaving through her opponents is always impeccable. So when she nods and walks away, Sylvain knows she won’t stop.

After the professor leaves, the room becomes a flurry of action. Annette dashes forwards and closes the classroom doors, and Mercedes wraps an arm around Ashe’s shoulders and leads him carefully over to the fireplace. The two of them sit down in front of it, and Ingrid, Dimitri, and Dedue trail after them. Felix shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing over at Sylvain. 

Sylvain shrugs, “This is fucked.”

Felix narrows his eyes, looking at Ashe and the other Blue Lions, now huddled together. Ashe’s head is on Dedue’s shoulder, and Mercedes is rubbing his back soothingly. “Ashe is too soft for this,” Felix says. “We shouldn’t bring him.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Sylvain replies.

Felix’s hand twitches towards his sword, although what he hopes to accomplish, Sylvain doesn’t know. Ingrid lifts her head, catching Sylvain’s eye and furiously motioning the two of them over. Sylvain shrugs, smiles at Felix, and walks over to join the rest of their class. After a moment, Felix follows.

-

Five days later, Sylvain turns twenty. He isn’t expecting a lot, mostly just a night on the town and some good birthday sex, but the Professor brings him flowers in the morning, which is sweet. No one’s ever brought him flowers before, and his smile when she hands them over is definitely not as suave as he would have liked.

After class, Felix falls into step beside him, which is a birthday present in and of itself. “Train with me,” he says.

Sylvain sighs, throwing his arm around Felix’s shoulders, who immediately shrugs him off. “It’s my birthday, and you want me to train?”

“If you don’t train, this will be your last birthday,” Felix replies, measured.

“Ouch!” Sylvain says, clutching at his chest in mock pain. He doesn’t mind the idea of training with Felix at all, but it’s not like he’s gonna give in right away. “Harsh! Do you actually think I’m that out of practice?”

“Yes,” Felix says. “You only train when I force you to. That’s not sustainable.”

Sylvain smiles, “That so? I could be training behind your back, you know. Trying to pull one over on you.”

“You’re not,” Felix answers without a moment’s pause, which is even more annoying because he’s right. Sylvain has better things to do than train, and lancework is forgiving in that it relies less on finesse than the swordwork Felix is so preoccupied with.

“If you say so,” Sylvain says. “But if you’re so confident, you wouldn’t mind a bet, hm? We can spar, not train.”

Felix turns to head towards the training grounds, looking off to the side, away from Sylvain. Felix has never liked eye contact, even as a little kid, but he’s gotten even more obstinate about it lately. “What am I betting?”

Sylvain sighs, tries to act like he doesn’t already have something in mind. “A night out, just you and me.”

Felix frowns, likely trying to figure out what Sylvain wants. “I’m not going to pick up girls.”

“You don’t have to.” Sylvain’s heartbeat is too fast, his blood already roaring in his ears. He needs to get it together, especially if wants to have a shot of beating Felix.

“Hmph,” Felix pauses once they reach the training grounds, shielding his eyes from the sun as he takes stock of the training grounds. There’s no one else there, likely because it’s immediately after classes and most people tend to take a bit of a break. Everyone except Felix, that is. “Fine. If I win, you’ll train with me every day for a week.”

“Is that all?” Sylvain asks, heading over to the weapons and sorting through the training weapons until he finds one that he likes the weight of. A week of training with Felix doesn’t sound so bad, even if he’ll miss out on time better spent in town.

Felix picks one of the swords out and slices through the air, checking the weight of his weapon before nodding to himself and striding across the arena, grabbing a shield as he goes. Sylvain rolls his shoulders and prepares to face off against him, setting his shoulders and lowering his lance.

The two of them circle each other for a moment, studying their opponents. Felix’s steps are small and careful, and his shield carefully supports his outside line. He’ll have to try to keep Felix as far away from him as possible if he wants to have any chance of winning. Felix is quicker on foot, but lances are faster than swords as a rule, and as long as he keeps the offensive, he should be successful.

That’s all proven to be wishful thinking in mere moments. Felix jumps forward, feinting high and left and then knocking his sword against the side of Sylvain’s leg. Sylvain sets his jaw and steps back, determined not to let him get through so quickly next time. He moves before Felix can, jabbing at Felix’s leg and then moving high to catch him in the shoulder when Felix moves to deflect the blow.

They trade a couple more hits this way, and it seems that they’re far more evenly matched than Felix had expected. Across from him, Felix crouches slightly, breathing heavily. He must be getting tired - his shield position is all wrong, tilted in front of his neck and creating a perfect slope for his spear to skate along. Sylvain rushes forward, aiming for Felix’s neck, but at the last second Felix drops his shield back down to his side and lunges forward, catching Sylvain in the inside of the arm with his sword. Sylvain’s arm flies to the left, giving out from the unexpected hit, and his lance goes flying out of his grasp, spinning across the floor of the training grounds. Fuck. Sylvain’s stronger than Felix, but Felix is faster and there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to get over to his weapon without Felix stopping him.

“Give up yet?” Felix taunts, levelling his sword at him.

Sylvain takes a step back, mind racing as he considers his options. He’s not trained in grappling like Felix is, and even if he managed to disarm Felix somehow, he doubts he’s better with a sword than Felix is with his fists. Maybe Felix had a point about all that training after all. “Course not,” Sylvain says, trying to buy himself time. “You’re right where I want you.”

Felix smirks, and Sylvain bites at the inside of his cheek to avoid saying something stupid. Cockiness is a good look on Felix. “Sure,” Felix says, taking a step forward.

Sylvain’s eyes dart to the left towards his lance, and Felix tenses up minutely. Felix already thinks he’s won, but Sylvain still has a shot if he plays this smart. Sylvain shifts his weight onto his left leg, preparing to move. He lunges to the left, then drops his right shoulder and changes directions, trying to get behind Felix in order to sweep his feet out from under him.

Most opponents have no chance in hell at being able to turn so quickly, but Felix isn’t most opponents. He drops into a crouch as soon as he realizes Sylvain wasn’t going where he’d expected, then pivots on his heel and turns around completely. Sylvain ducks, trying to get around him, but Felix kicks the inside of Sylvain’s calf faster than he can move. Sylvain’s leg slides out from under him and he pitches to the side, trying to rebalance himself. Above him, Felix’s smirk widens, and he hooks his foot behind Sylvain’s ankle and tugs. Sylvain falls flat on his back, and Felix’s sword is at his throat in a moment.

The sun shines above them, illuminating Felix in its dull glow. His hair is coming out of its bun and he’s breathing hard, but his eyes are shining and his smirk is edging closer to a true smile with every passing second. “Well?”

Sylvain lets his head thud to the ground, his blood rushing in his ears, “I yield.”

All things considered, he’s had worse birthdays.

-

The rest of the month is tumultuous. Ashe is upset, and is rarely by himself. Sylvain crashes in his room a couple of nights, saying that it’s because he needs to get away from some girl, but really he just doesn’t want the kid to be alone. Ashe is sweet; he shouldn’t have to bear this burden. Even worse, in Sylvain’s mind, is the knowledge of what is to come. As soon as preparations are complete, Ashe is going to have to help kill the man who’s become a father to him, and he knows that that day is fast approaching.

He almost wishes the professor hadn’t told them until they were on the way there.

After the battle, Ashe leaves to check on his siblings, and the rest of them are left waiting. Dedue and Dimitri are off to the side, talking quietly together, and Ingrid’s been drawn into a conversation with Annette and Mercedes. Sylvain sighs, rubbing at a bloodstain on his armor and only succeeding in making it look worse. Felix is by himself in the grass, cleaning the blood off of his sword.

Sylvain walks over, throwing himself onto the ground next to him.

Felix doesn’t pause in his movements. “Are you injured?”

“Not badly,” Sylvain replies. “Are you?”

Felix shakes his head, “No. Mercedes healed me before I even noticed I was hurt.”

Sylvain knows what he means. In battle, the adrenaline takes over, and every injury seems like a memory even as it’s happening. Dimitri seems to experience it the most: last month, he’d taken a particularly nasty hit to the side and hadn’t even noticed until hours later, when they’d arrived back at the monastery and he’d taken his armor off only to find blood matted beneath it. Mercedes had swooped in immediately, and Dimitri had gotten a lecture from both Dedue and the Professor, but Sylvain doesn’t think it did much. During battle, everything else seems to fade to a hum, until all that’s left is the next enemy to be cut down.

“Glad to hear it,” Sylvain replies, sitting up and resting his chin on his knees.

Felix sighs heavily, carefully putting his sword back in its sheath and setting it off to the side. “What do you want?”

Sylvain wants to go back to the monastery and sleep, and for Ashe to not have had to watch Lonato die. He wants Felix to look at him, and his lance to not feel so heavy in his hands. “The usual,” he says. “A pretty girl, maybe a hot meal.”

Felix scoffs, “Of course. I don’t know what I expected.”

“You know me,” Sylvain says, laying back down and resting one of his arms behind his head, “I’m an open book.” He reaches up and grabs Felix’s shoulder, pulling him down onto the grass next to him. Felix goes without complaint, which is a surprise in and of itself, but Sylvain lets the moment pass without comment. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sylvain turns his head to the side, studying Felix’s profile, “What do you want?”

Felix sighs and closes his eyes. His eyelashes are long and dark, and there’s a stray one on his cheek. If it was ten years ago, Sylvain would carefully pull it off his face and ask Felix to make a wish. Felix would puff up his cheeks and blow it off of his finger, and then tell Sylvain his wish. A few moments later, he’d remember that he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone his wish and burst into tears, convinced that it wouldn’t come true. Sylvain would pull Felix into his arms and tell him that that rule didn’t apply to best friends, and that he could tell Sylvain as many wishes as he wanted. Felix would stop crying eventually, and then they’d go find Ingrid and play.

But it’s not ten years ago, and so when Felix opens his eyes and sits back up, Sylvain doesn’t move.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miklan steals the Lance of Ruin. Sylvain remembers simpler times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy quarantine there's no posting schedule! im shootin for once a week but it uhhh might be sooner than that tbh. thanks biz for editing <3

Sylvain has his tongue in a girl’s mouth when Ingrid slams open the door to his room. The girl jerks back. He shoots a disdainful glare at Ingrid. “I’m busy,” he says, moving his hands down to rest on the girl’s hips. Carina, he's pretty sure her name was.

Ingrid doesn’t look annoyed, and really, he should have known something else was going on from that alone. Ingrid is always annoyed at him. “Miklan stole the Lance of Ruin. We’ve been assigned to stop him,” she says instead, watching his face like she thinks he’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces. He’ll be damned if he gives her that satisfaction. 

He arches an eyebrow, unimpressed, “So what? Now if you wouldn’t mind…” he trails off, already leaning back down to mouth at the girl’s neck.

Ingrid scowls and slams the door shut behind her.

Carina leaves pretty soon after Ingrid - she’s a buzzkill, even when she’s not actively trying to be one. Sylvain lays on his back in his bed and thinks about trying to find someone else to fill it for the night.

They’re going after Miklan. Huh. He really hopes Ashe isn’t going to try to bond with him over the fact that they’re both killing family members. Miklan is nothing like Lonato.

He sighs and gets up, paces the room a few times. Miklan stole the Lance of Ruin. If Sylvain’s being honest with himself, he didn’t think Miklan had it in him. Their father must be furious. Conrad Tower, Ingrid said. That’s Fraldarius territory, which explains Rodrigue’s presence earlier today. Felix has been locked in his room all morning, avoiding his father, and if Sylvain was a better friend he probably would have checked on him.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Felix opens the door without knocking, walking across the room and sitting at Sylvain’s desk. This marks the second time today that one of his closest friends has barged into his room: he just needs Dimitri to do so and he’ll have caught all of them being rude.

“My father’s here,” he says, scowling. “Do you think I’ll have to have dinner with him?”

Sylvain shrugs and lays down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, “We’re going to kill Miklan.”

Felix grunts. “Do you want to?”

Goddess, what a question that is. Does Sylvain want to kill his brother? “I don’t know,” Sylvain says. There’s a brown spot on the ceiling that he’s never noticed before. Funny, how even after living in a place for months there are parts of it he doesn’t know.

“You could sit the month out,” Felix says, which is really one of the nicest things Felix has said to him in a long time.

Sylvain laughs, “No, I can’t.”

Felix doesn’t reply, likely caught up in thoughts of his father. Felix’s relationship with Rodrigue is such a tangled thing, and Sylvain can’t begin to understand it. Part of him is always going to think of Rodrigue as the man who let Sylvain visit as often as the Margrave would permit. The Fraldarius Estate has always been a place of happiness for him. If only the same could be said of Felix.

“I can tell Duke Fraldarius you’re sick,” Sylvain says.

Felix shakes his head, “That would be worse.” He sighs, “I’m going to eat while he’s still in a meeting with the boar. Enjoy yourself.”

Sylvain means to say something else, he thinks, but what comes out instead is a slightly pitiful, “Don’t leave.” Felix freezes midway out of his chair, which would be almost comical if Sylvain doesn’t feel as if he’s about to cry.

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain inhales shakily, “Sorry. I’m fine.”

Felix walks across the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “What do you want?”

For someone who spent so much of his childhood crying, you’d think that Felix would be better at comforting upset people. He pats Sylvain’s leg twice, which does absolutely nothing to make him feel better. “Nothing,” Sylvain says. “Sorry.”

Felix frowns. “It’s fine.” He leaves his hand on Sylvain’s leg, and the warmth of it is nice, comforting even. Sylvain wants someone to touch him in the aching, dull way he always does. It never quite goes away, even during sex. He doesn’t know what it means, but right now is - nice. Felix’s hand on his leg is nice.

“I’m glad he’s going to die,” Sylvain says.

“Me too,” Felix replies. He doesn’t move his hand.

“We should have done something,” Felix says, breaking the silence. “About Miklan.”

“We were kids,” Sylvain says. “We didn’t know any better.”

Felix’s hand curls into the fabric of Sylvain’s pants. “Yeah, we did. Glenn knew.”

Sylvain shakes his head, “You were a kid, Felix. We all were. If anyone should have done something, it was the Margrave.”

Glenn had known though. Felix is right. Glenn had known.

Felix scowls, “After the well. We should have done something.”

When he thinks back on it, Sylvain doesn’t remember being in the well. He remembers the heavy weight of Miklan’s hands on his back and the way that he’d hung in the air for just a moment before falling, but other than that it’s as if a fog has settled over his memories of the event.

After, though. He remembers after. The questions hadn’t started until he was safe and sound in the infirmary, settled under the thin sheets and with a blanket tucked neatly under his chin. He remembers one of the healers looking down at him, arms crossed, “What happened?”

Even now, his only clear memory from being trapped is looking up towards the sky and seeing Miklan peering down after him, a wild grin fixed onto his face. At the time, such clear confirmation of his brother's joy had been terrible to behold, but the thought of telling on him was even worse. It still is. 

“I was playing,” he’d responded, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “And I tripped and fell. It was an accident.”

Her expression had softened slightly, and she’d leaned down to adjust his blankets. She’d smoothed his hair back and dropped a kiss on his forehead, a motherly gesture that had felt more comforting from someone he barely knew than it possibly could have from his own mother. She’d left, but Sylvain barely had a moment’s peace before Glenn walked in, the scowl etched into his face almost enough to mask the line of tension in his shoulders. Almost.

“You didn’t fall,” Glenn’s voice had been sharp, accusatory.

Sylvian had never been able to meet Glenn’s eyes, and this was no exception. He’d looked away - Glenn’s gaze always felt like it would burn him if he met it. “It was an accident,” he’d said again, as if repeating it would make it true.

“Sylvain,” Glenn had said, sterner this time. Glenn is - was - a big brother, and even though he and Sylvain had been almost the same age, that fact will always be a chasm between them. Glenn used to have a tone for when they were being foolish that made all of them shut up and listen, no matter the circumstances. Three years later, none of them have ever mastered it. Dimitri and Ingrid have tried, but they’ve never come anywhere near it.

“He knew I wouldn’t die,” Sylvain said, voice small.

Glenn had crossed the room almost instantly, his steps dwarfing the infirmary that had felt so huge only moments before. Glenn took up more space than anyone Sylvain has ever known, except for Miklan. In his memories, he looms ten feet tall. He can only imagine what it’s like for the others. “He could have killed you,” Glenn had said, haughty and sure of himself. He’d glared down at Sylvain - this was his fault, after all.

Sylvain remembers tightening his grip on the blankets and pressing himself a little further back into the pillows. “They said I’m gonna be fine.”

Glenn looked off to the side, the muscles in his jaw tightening. In truth, Sylvain had always been a little scared of Glenn. Not in the same way that he was scared of Miklan - that was a rational fear, one that kept him safe more often than not - but in a way that made his skin itch, that made him not want to be alone with Glenn. Felix was all volatile emotions, just as apt to explode into tears as he was to work himself up into a meltdown, but Glenn was quieter.

Sylvain didn’t like the quiet. Miklan was always the most dangerous when Sylvain didn’t know where he was.

Glenn wasn’t dangerous, at least not to him. Glenn could be mean, could be callous and opinionated at times, but he would never hurt any of them. He loved Felix in a way that Sylvain didn’t like to think about as a child and disliked dwelling on even more as an adult. He couldn't imagine what it was like to know that kind of love in the first place, much less to have it and then lose it.

This moment in the infirmary is one of a handful of times that Sylvain remembers being alone with Glenn. Glenn had been angry, and Sylvain hadn’t been able to tell if Glenn was angry at him or for him. The not knowing had frightened him, and he remembers feeling small and afraid. Finally, Glenn had kneeled down next to the bed, positioning himself under Sylvain. Sylvain had been short as a child, and although now he would tower over Glenn easily, at the time Glenn had seemed insurmountable. He’d met Glenn’s eyes, hoping that he would have some of the answers that Sylvain lacked.

Even at the age of eight, Felix hadn’t liked to make eye contact with other people, the tears falling almost as soon as you met his gaze. Glenn, on the other hand, had always known that it was a tool, nothing more. Sylvain remembers him always seeking out eye contact, his gaze cold and calculating, as if constantly sizing everyone around him up for a fight. His eyes were the same color as Rodrigue’s, something that Sylvain had seen Felix cry about as a child on multiple occasions. He’d caught him crying about it to Glenn once, stumbling into the room to see the two of them sitting on the floor with Glenn’s arms wrapped tight around him. 

It had been a private moment, too private for him to intrude on. Felix hadn’t noticed him, but Glenn had, and the look in his eyes when he’d met Sylvain’s eyes had sent a shiver down Sylvain’s spine and left him rushing out of the room as soon as he could. He couldn’t imagine that kind of protectiveness being directed towards him. How did Felix hold up under the weight of it?

When he’d been confronted with that same look in Glenn’s eyes, Sylvain hadn’t been able to bear it. He’d closed his eyes to avoid it, but that didn’t rid him of the tight feeling in his throat. Glen sighed. “Felix is going to want to see you,” He’d said. “I told him he couldn’t see you until after I talked to you.”

Sylvain nodded. “Okay.”

“I can tell him that you’re asleep,” Glenn’s voice had been even, betraying none of his feelings. Although he’d been only a year and a half older than Sylvain, thirteen had felt like an eon away from eleven. If Glenn was alive now, would that year and a half still seem so immense?

Sylvain remembers his head hurting, but he remembers setting that aside when Glenn had offered to lie to Felix. “It’s okay. I wanna see him.” He did, so much so that he knew at the time it must have been selfish. Even now, when he’s hurt, Felix is the one he wants to go to, although now Felix is more likely to berate him than cry over his wounds.

Glenn stood up abruptly. “Okay. Don’t have any more accidents, alright?”

A sickening emotion had curled through Sylvain, one that he wishes he weren’t still so familiar with. More than anything, he hates the way shame makes him feel, hates how small and useless it renders him. “Okay,” Sylvain said.

Glenn had smoothed his hair back from his forehead, but didn’t lean down to kiss it the way that the healer had. Sylvain had wanted him to, but he hadn’t known the words for it. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Glenn had told him instead. Sylvain had believed him, but in four and a half years Glenn would be dead and none of his promises would matter anymore.

“Okay,” Sylvain repeated. Glenn nodded as though they had made a pact, then turned and walked out of the room.

Felix had raced in as soon as the door opened, a bundle of blue and furs. His face was already sticky with tears, and he'd started sobbing before he’d even seen Sylvain. He jumped onto the bed without a care, throwing himself onto Sylvain’s chest and knocking all the air out of his lungs. Despite the fact that it was hard to breathe, Sylvain hadn’t been able to do anything but laugh and pull his best friend close, wiping the tears clumsily away from his face until Felix had finally stopped crying.

“You’re not going to die, right?” Felix had asked, eyes wild and bloodshot.

“Nah, course not,” Sylvain replied in turn. “That’d break our promise.”

Felix, still tearful, had nodded and hugged Sylvain tighter. It had been so easy to comfort him in those days, whether he was curled up in Sylvain’s bed crying or if he’d fallen down during a training bout with Dimitri. If he rifles through his memories, there are dozens of scenes like this one, with Felix crying into his shirt and Sylvain trying his best to protect him. He’d never fully understood what that protection entailed, but crammed into the infirmary bed together he’d told himself that he would do anything he could to keep Felix from crying over him again. He’d untangled one of his arms from Felix’s still-crying form, then smoothed Felix’s hair back gently before kissing his forehead.

It’s a shame none of that lasted.

-

Sylvain spends most of the day after that in the Knight’s Hall, sitting by the fire and trying to imagine what Miklan’s face will look like when he dies. When the professor finds him sometime in the afternoon, he barely feels as if any time has passed at all.

“I'm so sorry my older brother is causing you all this hassle, Professor. Don't misunderstand, I always thought he was a piece of garbage, but I never thought he'd steal the Relic. I can't wait to see his face when he realizes I'm in the group that was sent to take him down,” the words spill out of his mouth, uncontrollable. His hands are shaking a little, and he laces his fingers together behind his back in the hope that the professor won’t notice.

Byleth draws her lips together slightly. He’s learned lately that the professor does emote, just not as obviously as the rest of them, and he’s still categorizing what all of these things mean. He’s spent more time studying her face lately than anyone else’s, and yet some of her expressions are still a mystery to him. “Do you want to get tea?”

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, “With you? Always.”

Her expression stays flat and unamused, which means his joke landed but she didn’t find it funny enough to laugh at. He thinks. He’s still learning. “Come along,” she says, turning and walking out of the Knight’s Hall and drawing him away from the fireplace.

Tea is better than he thought it would be. The Professor has Bergamot, implying that she planned this ahead of time, and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast and the scones she has out are delicious. They chat idly for a bit, but the conversation soon turns to crests.

Sylvain sighs and looks down into his cup of tea, “Miklan’s always been jealous of me. I ruined his life.”

Byleth doesn’t frown, but the skin around her eyes goes tight. “I see.”

“Please,” Sylvain says, and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. “Miklan’s the worst person I know, but we’re still family. We share the same blood.”

“Of course,” Byleth says, her voice smooth like silk.

Sylvain closes his eyes, his throat suddenly tight. “Let’s talk about something else. Tea is nice, but we should get dinner sometime, yeah?”

-

Sylvain has been to Conrad Tower once before. It’s between Fraldarius and Galatea territory, and Glenn had taken the four of them on a daytrip there a few months before his death. The trip had surely had some other purpose, but Sylvain remembers it mostly as an excuse for them to fool around. Glenn had just gotten his first - and only - warhorse and had been ecstatic to show him off, riding at the front of their little procession with a smile on his face.

Glenn had often been difficult to get along with, but Sylvain remembers that outing as one of the last wonderful things to happen before the Tragedy of Duscur. Felix and Ingrid had raced to the tower and Felix had fallen off his pony, then sat on the ground and valiantly tried to hold back his tears.

At thirteen, Felix was less of a crybaby, but still prone to tearful tendencies. Dimitri had jumped off his horse to fuss over him, and then Ingrid had circled back because she felt guilty. Felix had ridden with Glenn on his warhorse for the rest of the trip, and Sylvain had ponied Felix’s horse alongside his own.

He can’t remember what happened once they got to the tower: whatever lessons Glenn had intended to teach them had clearly not had any lasting impact. What he remembers is this: Ingrid’s laughter on the wind, Dimitri’s impromptu history lesson on the region, Glenn’s warhorse snuffling an apple from his hand, and Felix’s shoulder pressed against his when they picnicked in the shadow of the tower.

The tower is not so rose-colored in the present. Glenn is dead and his war horse sold. Ingrid’s face is stony as they approach the tower, and Felix walks next to Sylvain’s horse with a hand on his sword the whole time. Dimitri rides at the front of the Blue Lions next to the professor, with Dedue close to his side.

Conrad Tower sits at the peak of a large hill, surrounded by a few small, scattered villages. When they’d come here as children, Glenn had stopped at a bakery and bought fresh pastries for all of them. Now, they ride through those same villages only to find smashed homes, rotting supplies, and broken glass. Miklan and his people have made short work of their lives.

Annette makes a small frightened noise and steps a little closer to Felix. Mercedes takes her hand. Felix’s mouth thins, and his grip on his sword tightens. For the first time since they’ve left Garreg Mach, Sylvain is sad. Killing Miklan is necessary, and therefore shouldn’t be worth his pity, but this is atrocious. This is needless violence and destruction. Miklan may as well have sent them a declaration of war.

Once inside the tower, everything becomes a whirlwind. Miklan has far more troops than any of them had expected, and as upset as they all are at Rhea assigning Gilbert to them without even a thought for Annette’s feelings, they’re glad he’s there.

Miklan is waiting for them when they reach the center of the tower, his face contorted in a sneer. His hair is unkempt and messy, and there’s a new scar cutting across his face that Sylvain doesn’t recognize. It’s been three years since he’s seen his brother, and twenty since he started missing him. Sylvain has a vision he’s built up in his head, of this being some grand confrontation. He’ll stand in front of Miklan and tell him that he hates him, or that he’s sorry, or that it isn’t his fault he was born with a crest. But instead, Ingrid swoops down on her pegasus and knocks Miklan off his feet and Felix points his sword at Miklan’s throat.

In the end, Sylvain doesn’t know if he would have been able to do it, and he never finds out. Miklan transforms into a fearsome beast and the Professor wraps the Sword of the Creator around his - its - foot and pulls its legs out from under it. The beast goes crashing down, hitting the floor hard, and Sylvain rushes forward to kill it, really, he does, but Felix gets there first and plunges his blade into its neck.

The blood that spills from that which used to be Miklan is thick and black and stains Felix’s shoes like tar. Felix looks down, his lip curled.

“Goddess…” Gilbert trails off. “The beast is gone, yet Miklan and the Lance remain.” 

Sylvain opens his mouth to tell Gilbert that he’s wrong, that the beast is still there as long as Miklan is, but all that he manages is, “Miklan… my brother.”

“It’s over,” Dimitri says, coming up behind him and resting a hand on his shoulder, “Let’s retrieve the lance and leave this place.”

-

Later, Sylvain crashes Byleth’s meeting with Rhea and takes the Lance of Ruin for himself. He fits his hands around it when he’s alone in his room and thinks about Miklan’s hands where his are now. There are so many things he’s done that his brother never has, but he will always think of him when he wields the Lance. He’s sure that would bring Miklan some kind of happiness.

Sylvain’s stomach turns and black spots appear in the edges of his vision. The Lance of Ruin falls to the floor with a clatter, and Sylvain stumbles to his bed with his head in his hands. He just needs to drown out the sound of Miklan’s screams when he’d turned into that beast. It feels as if he’ll be hearing them for the rest of his life, until he meets the same fate. No, not the same fate: he has a crest. When he touches it, the Lance of Ruin pulses and wiggles slightly as if calling to what’s in his blood.

It should be horrific, it should curdle his blood just to look at the thing, glowing dully and casting shadows that stretch across the floor of his room. But instead, looking at it produces nothing more than the desire to touch it. The Lance of Ruin is a weapon for a killer, and looking at it makes him want to be one. He almost wishes that Rhea hadn’t agreed to surrender the weapon to him. 

A soft knock pulls his mind away from the Lance, and his gaze darts to the door. “Sylvain?” Mercedes’ voice is gentle, soothing, and Sylvain wishes she’d go away. He rubs at his eyes and smiles brightly, looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look great, but he’s definitely looked worse. It’ll have to do.

He opens the door with a grin plastered on his face, “Mercedes! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mercedes is carrying a basket covered with a pale blue blanket. Her hair is tied as usual, and she’s wearing a cream-colored robe over her nightgown. It’s incredibly scandalous of her, although Sylvain thinks if she was planning on seducing him she would have dressed a little more provocatively. 

“I thought we could go for a picnic,” Mercedes says, smiling gently.

Sylvain laughs, “Isn’t it a bit late for that?”

“It’s a lovely night,” Mercedes replies, “and I thought we could look at the stars together. Do you know any constellations?”

“I’ll never say no to an evening with you,” Sylvain says with a wink, pulling the door shut behind them with a click. “I don’t know much about the stars, but I’d rather look at you anyways.”

Mercedes giggles and pats his arm, “Of course. That’s just like you to say.”

They walk in silence for awhile before they arrive at a spot in the gardens that Mercedes has clearly picked out beforehand. She spreads her picnic blanket on the grass, then takes a seat, patting the ground next to her invitingly.

Sylvain sits down next to her, reclining on his elbows. “Y’know, normally I’m the one doing the wooing for these sorts of things.”

Mercedes smacks his arm lightly, “Hush! I just wanted to check on you.”

Sylvain grins, “Awfully romantic way of checking on someone, hm? Is there something you need to tell me Mercedes?”

She sighs and pulls a tin of cookies out of her basket. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” She glances off to the side, her hands folded in her lap, “Sylvain… I must confess…” She sighs again, heavier this time, “I’m worried about you.”

Sylvain collapses on the ground, throwing a hand over his eyes, “Mercedes! And here I thought you were about to confess your undying love for me.”

Mercedes sets a cookie on his chest, then lays down next to him, “I’m afraid not.”

The cookie’s good. Sylvain grabs another from the tin and eats that too. “What are you worrying about me for? A pretty girl like you shouldn’t have any worries at all.”

“We killed your brother,” Mercedes says, and it sounds softer, when she says it. Less like fratricide and more like a completely ordinary way to spend a Sunday afternoon. “I thought you might need someone to talk to.”

“Nah,” Sylvain says. “Miklan had to be put down. Who knows what he would’ve done next?”

“Of course,” Mercedes replies. She’s silent for a few seconds, “You know, we don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to. We can just look at the stars.”

Sylvain eats another cookie. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s look at the stars.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain copes with Miklan's death. Felix sees a part of Sylvain he'd rather keep to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you didn't see it, i updated the tags to include dissociation! also just a general content warning for sylvain's unhealthy relationship w/ sex
> 
> thanks for reading!

They’re all shackled to the dead. Dimitri spends night after night calling to his ghosts, replying to screams only audible to his ears. Sylvain knows that Ingrid still dreams of a dead boy. He knows, too, that trying to emulate Glenn will not bring him back any more than Felix’s steadfast refusal to believe in any of the ideals that his brother once held so dear. Sylvain can barely stand to look at himself in a mirror these days, for fear that he’ll open his eyes and it’ll be Miklan staring back at him.

Maybe this is the common thread that brings the Blue Lions together, not their birthplace or any loyalty to Fareghus. Lonato will never leave Ashe, and Dedue will always dream of happier times. Annette will wish for a family that is whole, and Mercedes will long for a little brother that the rest of them have already written off as dead.

In some ways, he’s lucky: Sylvain doesn’t mourn Miklan in the way the others do for their lost ones. Some days, when he’s feeling especially shitty about himself, he imagines killing Miklan again. Last time, Felix had been the one to do it, striking down the black beast that used to be his brother in a spurt of black blood. In his fantasies, Sylvain doesn’t make the same mistake as last time. He thrusts his lance into Miklan’s ribs and lets the blood rush out over him as if it will absolve him of everything he’s ever done.

He’s pretty sure Felix doesn’t dream of killing Glenn.

-

It’s kind of sweet, the way all the Blue Lions check in on him after Miklan dies. There’s Mercedes’ star gazing, of course, but the others all fuss over him in their own ways. Annette leaves sweets outside of his door. Ashe brings by a book about historical strategies used by knights that he thinks Sylvain will find “just fascinating.” It’s not a bad read. He sees why some of those tactics aren’t used anymore, but still, some of them are interesting.

Dimitri comes by, and Sylvain knows he won’t be able to send him away with an easy smile and forced platitudes.

“I understand if you don’t want them,” Dimitri says, “but I came by to offer my condolences.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain says. “But you know that’s not necessary.” His mouth tastes like ash. It has ever since Felix killed Miklan. He’s beginning to think something in him died as well..

Dimitri wrings his hands, “Yes. I’m well aware.”

They stand in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Sylvain shifts his weight from one leg to the other. Dimitri looks at a spot over his shoulder and doesn’t say anything.

“Well,” Sylvain says. “If that’s all…”

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri says. “Miklan was a terrible brother to you, and as your prince I should have taken better care of you.”

“You were a kid,” Sylvain says. “You shouldn’t have had to.”

“I apologize nevertheless,” Dimitri says, overly formal. 

Sylvain sighs, “Dimitri, what do you want me to say?”

Dimitri is still stiff-backed and rigid. Every day Sylvain knows him a little less. When Dimitri was little, you could ruffle his hair and smile him out of any sour mood, but he doesn’t think that would work anymore. Neither of them know what to say to each other these days.

Dimitri, his prince, looks at his feet, gone shy. “I suppose there is nothing I want you to say.”

“Right,” Sylvain says, starting to close the door to his room. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Sylvain?” Dimitri asks, “You will let me know if there’s anything you need, won’t you?”

Sylvain grins, “Of course.”

-

Sylvain expects it to be easy to get rid of Dedue, but it’s not. He waits just outside Sylvain’s room, calm and patient until Sylvain finally opens the door.

“Listen,” Sylvain says. “Everyone’s told me they’re sorry, and I’m tired of it. You don’t need to.”

“Would you prefer to be left alone?” Dedue asks.

Sylvain never wants to be alone. He hooks his hands together and rests them behind his head, smiling blandly at nothing. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. I can always go find a pretty girl if I need company.” He winks.

Dedue sighs, “Sylvain. I am asking if you would like my company. Please answer honestly.”

Sylvain drops his hands back down to his sides. “Right. Sorry. No, I don’t want to be alone.”

Dedue nods, “Thank you.” He should be the one thanking Dedue, if anything. He’s always liked Dedue, even when they were kids. “I was heading to the greenhouse,” Dedue continues. “I could use some assistance.”

Sylvain can count on one hand the number of times he’s been in the greenhouse. At least no one will think to look for him there. “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

-

Dimitri comes home from Duscur, but most everything else doesn’t. Dimitri is thirteen years old, and he is never going to be the same again, that much is clear.

Sylvain is sixteen years old, and his life has not been as cataclysmically torn apart in the past few days. Instead, he pays attention to the fact that, for the first time in their whole lives, Dimitri has a new friend. It’s been the four of them - five with Glenn - and that’s always been it. 

But the world is a different place now. Glenn is dead and so is the King. Felix is no longer speaking to his father and Ingrid hasn’t left her room in days.

So perhaps it makes sense that Dimitri too has changed in this strange new world, has found someone new that he can turn that kindness and earnestness towards. His new friend is from Duscur, and stays just a step behind Dimitri everywhere he goes.

Dedue has large hands and kind eyes, and says that he owes Dimitri his life. Sylvain is intensely curious about him, and with Ingrid and Felix too mired in their grief to ask questions, the task falls to Sylvain.

Sylvain and his father are visiting the Fraldarius estate the first time Sylvain has a chance to speak with Dimitri’s new friend. Dimitri is inside speaking with Rodrigue and the Margrave, and Dedue is waiting outside, resting in a chair in the sitting room and reading a book.

“Hey!” Sylvain walks over to him, seizing the rare opportunity of Dedue without Dimitri. “What’s your name?” 

Sylvain already knows Dedue’s name, of course. People talk. He was raised politer than that though. Dimitri has never liked idle gossip, and has always gotten upset when they paid attention to it.

Dedue carefully inserts a bookmark into his book and closes it gently, setting it off to the side. “Dedue,” he says, standing up and nodding politely. He can’t be much older than Felix or Dimitri, although he’s broad-shouldered and taller than both of them. 

Sylvain extends a hand, “Sylvain Jose Gautier. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dedue takes his hand. He has a strong grip, but he looks wary of Sylvain.

“You’re Dimitri’s new retainer, right?”

Dedue nods slowly, like he isn’t sure if he wants to be talking to Sylvain. “Yes.” Dedue doesn’t any anything else, even with Sylvain looking at him expectantly.

“Right,” Sylvain says. “You met him in Duscur?”

“Yes,” Dedue says again. “His Highness saved my life.”

At sixteen, Sylvain’s already learned how to make people do what he wants them to. Most of the time, all you need to do is put a little pressure on them and they’ll crack. In conversation, most of the time that’s just being patient and hanging around a couple seconds too long. People tend not to like silence - himself included - but he doesn’t mind when it suits his needs.

Dedue doesn’t seem to mind the quiet at all. He’s taller than Sylvain and looks down at him. He doesn’t seem particularly troubled or interested in him at all, neither of which are actions Sylvain is used to inciting.

Sylvain scratches the back of his neck. “Right. I’m one of Dimitri’s friends. Let me know if you have any questions. I’ll probably be more help than Ingrid or Felix.”

Dedue nods. “His Highness mentioned you.”

Sylvain grins, “Yeah? What’d he say?” Dimitri never gossips. Here’s hoping he told Dedue something salacious.

“That you were a trusted friend and confidant,” Dedue answers. 

“Well,” Sylvain says, “that doesn’t sound very exciting. I hope I’m more fun than that.” He winks at Dedue.

A very slight smile pulls at the corner of Dedue’s mouth, and Sylvain’s grin widens. He can work with that.

-

“How are you?” Ingrid asks. Her hands are folded behind her back, and she’s standing perfectly straight.

Sylvain smiles, “Great.”

Ingrid nods. “As expected, then.”

“As expected,” Sylvain echoes.

Ingrid sighs. “Listen, I know you’re not sorry Miklan died.”

“No, I’m not,” Sylvain says. “Part of me wishes I’d been the one to do it.”

“We weren’t going to let you,” Ingrid says. “I have to go feed the horses, would you mind lending a hand?”

Sylvain steps out of his room and shuts the door behind him. “For you? Anything. But I’m fine Ingrid, really. You don’t need to fuss over me.”

They start the walk to the stables. Ingrid brushes a strand of loose hair behind her ear. He’s always liked Ingrid’s hair, even when they were little. Once, when they were playing hide and seek, she hid in the hay loft and it took them almost an hour to find her. When Glenn finally did, Sylvain told her that she had hay for hair. She’d gotten so upset that she refused to speak to him for the rest of the day, and then Felix had started crying because his friends were fighting. Dimitri had talked Felix down from his tears and Glenn had gotten Sylvain to apologize, and by dinner they’d all been friends again.

“Listen, Sylvain,” Ingrid says, “after Glenn died, you were the only reason I left the room. Just… let me take care of you, okay?”

The joke about sex is right there, but he thinks Ingrid would get mad if he said it - and not even the fun kind of mad. He sighs. “I’m _fine,_ Ingrid. But sure, whatever makes you feel better.”

Ingrid’s shoulders drops slightly, tension that Sylvain hadn’t noticed easing out of them. “Thank you,” she says. There’s an uncertain edge to her voice, and it makes Sylvain want to take her hand and ruffle her hair like Glenn used to when they were kids. It wouldn’t mean as much coming from him, probably.

“Hey,” he says instead of doing either of those things, “what do you mean ‘we weren’t going to let you?’”

Ingrid purses her lips, “I wasn’t going to tell you. You can’t tell Felix I told you, but we… talked about it, when we found out it was Miklan we were being sent after. We decided we couldn’t let you kill him.”

“Couldn’t let me?” Sylvain echoes, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Ingrid keeps walking steadfastly forward. Her facial expression hasn’t budged at all, which is kind of impressive. Normally Ingrid cracks pretty easy. “Miklan deserved to die, but we both thought it would be for the best if you didn’t kill him.”

Sylvain had kinda been looking forward to killing Miklan. He thinks. It’s complicated. “It was a battle, Ingrid. The chances of me killing him out of all of us were low.”

Ingrid turns her head to look at him, her eyes narrowing, “No, they weren’t. We both know that if Felix and I hadn’t made that decision, you would have gone after him yourself.”

Sylvain sets his jaw, grimacing as they exit the dormitories and head towards the stables. “Maybe. Still, it wasn’t your decision to make.”

Ingrid shrugs, “Maybe not. But I’m glad we made it.”

-

Sylvain thinks he’s earned a hookup, after all this. His brother’s dead, Flayn’s missing, and he should at least get a lay out of all this mess. The monastery is proving to be less and less of a good time every day that passes.

Still better than going home, at least.

Sylvain goes into town and finds a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. He forgets her name halfway through fucking her, which probably means this is going to be a bad night.

-

He runs into Felix as he’s sneaking back to his room. Felix’s hair is wet from the sauna; he must just be getting back from training. It’s late, and they should both be asleep, but Sylvain knows better than to comment on it. Felix freezes at the end of the hallway. His eyes dart over Sylvain, focusing on who knows what.

“If you’re going to go out,” Felix says, “you could at least make yourself presentable when you come back.”

Sylvain is presentable, as far as he knows. There’s not much he can do about the hickies and the mused hair, but Felix should know better. His tongue feels like it’s wrapped in cotton, so he doesn’t speak.

Felix stalks over to him. “Nex time,” he says, “at least button your shirt.”

Sylvain doesn’t respond.

“Honestly,” Felix snaps, “you’re a mess.” He reaches out and does up the top button of Sylvain’s shirt.

Sylvain doesn’t have a good grasp of what happens next. He knows he flinches away from the touch, knows that Felix’s expression goes from annoyed to confused to concerned in an instant, but he doesn’t remember what Felix says. There’s a buzzing in his head and a numbness in his hands that he can’t reconcile.

His next clear memory is sitting on a bed. Felix hands him a glass of water. Sylvain drinks it.

“Sylvain?” Felix’s voice is uncertain, tremulous.

His face feels funny. He can’t quite feel his jaw, and his hands are shaking, he’s pretty sure. Sylvain looks down at them and isn’t sure if they’re really his hands. “I’m great,” he says, but it comes out too slow, the cadence of the words all wrong.

“What happened?”

Sylvain shakes his head. It feels like something else is doing it for him. “Nothing happened,” he says.

Felix scowls. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he says. The glass of water is empty, and Felix takes it. Sylvain doesn’t remember drinking it.

“I’m not,” Sylvain says slowly. “Nothing happened.”

Felix gestures at him, “Then what is this?”

Sylvain spreads his hands in front of him, palms facing the floor. “I don’t know,” he says, and laughs. Once he starts, he can’t stop, and he cackles until he can’t breathe, doubling over from the laughter.

When he sits up, there’s tears in his eyes, and Felix has his arms crossed. One of his hands is gripping his shirt, and there’s a furrow between his brows. “Should I get Manuela?” Felix asks. “She’s… probably awake, honestly.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Felix nods. Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, and can even almost feel it. He wipes at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Are you sure nothing happened?” Felix says again

Sylvain shrugs, “I went out. Met some girl. It was business as usual.”

Felix is smarter than Sylvain likes to give him credit for. He should remember that, in the future. He narrows his eyes, “Has this happened before?”

Sylvain smiles up at Felix, “Of course not.” He still can’t feel his jaw. That part is new. The vague unsteadiness after sex and the occasional loss of feeling in his hands are not common occurances, but they’ve happened before. He’s never lost feeling in his face before though, and has never walked across the monastery with his shirt still undone.

“What room are we in?”

“Mine,” Sylvain says. He can barely think outside of the buzzing in his head, much less look around.

“No,” Felix says, voice sharp. “We’re in my room.”

“Well,” Sylvain says. “I had half a chance at being right.”

“What do you want?” Felix asks, and he says it with such exasperated concern that Sylvain doesn’t have an answer.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Don’t leave?”

Felix bites his lip, looks towards the door. He turns and walks over to it, then locks it. “Okay,” he says, walking back across the room and sitting in the chair at his desk. 

-

Sylvain wakes up in the morning with a stiff neck and the same clothes he went out in last night. Felix is curled up in the wooden chair, his knees pulled to his chest and his head resting sideways on top. Sylvain’s head hurts like he has a hangover, although he’s sure he was sober last night. 

Sylvain rolls out of Felix’s bed and stretches. If he’s quiet, he might be able to sneak out before Felix wakes up, and then maybe they can forget everything from last night. Sylvain takes a step, and a floorboard squeaks.

Well, shit.

Felix jerks awake, lifting his head.. He can’t believe Felix spent the night in a chair for him. If he really didn’t want to kick Sylvain out, he could have just gone and slept in his room. Felix winces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Sylvain says. “I was trying not to wake you.”

Felix scowls. “Too late.”

Sylvain nods. Felix is still sitting in the chair with his knees pulled up to his chest. Sylvain glances towards the door. “Well-”

“What happened last night?”

Guess they are going to have to talk about it. Great. Sylvain’s shoulders drop. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sylvain.” Felix sounds exasperated, but his voice is tight, and he’s still sitting curled in on himself in the chair.

Sylvain sits back down on Felix’s bed. “I lose track of where I am sometimes when I’m having sex. It’s not a big deal.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Sylvain studies his hands. He has a cut on his thumb he doesn’t remember getting, and he picks idly at the scab instead of looking Felix in the eye. “Exactly what it sounds like. I don’t always remember having sex.”

“So it’s happened before,” Felix says. His words are clipped and Sylvain is sure his expression is doing something unpleasant.

“Not like that,” Sylvain says. “That was…” he trails off. “Anyways, don’t mention it to anyone.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Felix says. He still doesn’t move from the chair.

Sylvain finally looks up. For once, Felix is looking straight at him, meeting his eyes without any hesitation. Sylvain swallows. “You know,” he says, because he’s a coward and a shitty friend, “You really do look a lot like Glenn.”

Felix’s eyes cut away from him. Before he can throw him out, Sylvain stands. His smile comes easy now; he doesn’t know how he had a hard time with it last night. “Sorry,” he says. “It won’t happen again.” He leaves before Felix can say anything to him, and ducks into his room two doors down with a sour taste in his mouth.

-

Felix comes and checks on him a few days later. He doesn’t say it in as many words, but he does. It’s awfully charitable of him, all things considered.

Sylvain opens the door with a smile and steps to the side to let Felix in. Felix doesn’t sit, moving instead to stand facing his bookshelves. 

“Did you hear about Flayn?” Sylvain says, sitting in his desk chair and propping his feet up on the table.

Felix nods. “Yes.”

“What do you think it is? Think she ran away?”

“No,” Felix replies. He runs a hand over one of Sylvain’s books, and Sylvain bites back the completely irrational urge to tell him to stop that. He doesn’t have anything to prove to Felix. “Professor Jeritza has been… impulsive, as of late.”

“You think he did it?”

Felix turns away from the bookshelf, looking instead towards the Lance of Ruin. “I don’t know. He’s been handling his blade differently when we’ve sparred.”

“I didn’t know you sparred with him,” Sylvain says.

Felix nods, but doesn’t reply. He’s eyeing the Lance with an expression Sylvain doesn’t like, although Felix doesn’t look a thing like Miklan. Still, there’s a desire in his eyes that makes him uncomfortable. Felix’s hand twitches as though he’s going to reach out and take it. 

Sylvain drops his feet to the ground with a thump and stands. “What, don’t tell me you want it too?”

Felix hasn’t stopped looking at it. “I don’t want it.”

Sylvain scoffs. “Sure.”

Felix drags his gaze away from the Lance of Ruin, turning back to the bookshelf. “I don’t. You know I prefer swords.”

Sylvain exhales and leans against his desk. “Then why are you looking at it like it’s a hot girl you wanna stick your dick into?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Felix snaps. “I’ve just never seen one of the relics this close.”

Sylvain frowns. “Don’t you get the Aegis Shield when you’re older?”

“Yes,” Felix says. He picks at a chip of wood on the bottom shelf. He better not get a splinter. Sylvain sucks at healing magic. “I’ve never held it though.”

One of Sylvain’s earliest memories is his father taking him to see the Lance of Ruin. He can’t imagine not having it told to him over and over again that he would someday earn the Lance of Ruin and that the honor of wielding it would fall to him.

It doesn’t feel like an honor, and it doesn’t feel like he’s earned it.

-

Dorothea turns nineteen and lets Sylvain take her out for dinner. He hasn’t decided if he likes Dorothea yet. She’s pretty, and he knows that Ingrid and her are friends. He doesn’t quite understand that - Dorothea likes all sorts of girly things, whereas once, when they were little, Ingrid’s father put her in makeup and she cried until Glenn helped her take it off.

At dinner, they don’t talk about much of anything, until Dorothea finally puts her glass of wine down and tilts her head to the side. “I never came to see you after your brother died. How are you holding up?

Sylvain snorts. “He didn’t die. We killed him.”

“However you want to put it,” Dorothea answers. “Do you miss him?”

“Not at all,” Sylvain says. “Miklan and I have never been close. He’s resented me his whole life.”

“I see,” Dorothea says. “We don’t have to talk about it if it’s too personal.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Everyone else knows already. I don’t see any reason to hide it. Besides, he’s dead now.” He sounds bitter, even to himself. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “That’s no way to talk on a date, especially not with someone as pretty as you.”

Dorothea laughs. “It’s not rude if I asked.”

“No,” Sylvain says. “But all the same, I’d rather not talk about it. Why don’t you tell me something about you instead?”

-

The rest of the month progresses simply. They can’t find Flayn. Seteth worries more and more with every day that passses, and then one day Professor Manuela goes missing as well. Professor Jeritza hasn’t been seen, either, which doesn’t bode well.

Dedue receives word of rebels from Duscur and the rest of their class goes with him to help save them. It’s the first time Sylvain uses the Lance of Ruin in battle, and it feels better than he expected it to. Even before his first swing, the weight of it feels right in his hands. It's his first battle with the Lance, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels familiar, like he’s done this dozens of times before.

-

After they rescue Flayn, things settle back to a new normal. She joins the Blue Lions and Sylvain is only a little jealous of her easy way with Dimitri and Dedue. She laughs at Felix and although Felix doesn’t laugh back, the lines in his face ease. Sylvain looks away when he sees them together.

Manuela is injured, but expected to recover. Professor Jeritza is gone, his identity as the Death Knight all but confirmed. Mercedes is quiet, after that. She doesn’t bake as many sweets, and she and Annette squirrel themselves away in her room for long stretches of time.

Brothers are such complicated things.

Monica von Ochs rejoins the Black Eagles house, and Sylvain dislikes her instantly. He doesn’t trust her smile or the tilt of her head when she laughs. Her and Edelgard are together a lot, their heads bent close at mealtimes, in the training hall, in the gardens. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

-

They win the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and all the houses come together afterwards. Dorothea sits with them, her arm thrown around Ingrid and a flush on both of their cheeks. Sylvain wonders if either of them will do anything about it.

“Excuse me,” Edelgard’s voice is pleasant and cool, and cuts through the conversation in an instant.

Dorothea looks up, beaming. “Edie! What are you doing over here?”

Edelgard’s face is neutral. Sylvain knows it must be a mask, but it’s one he has no idea how to read. “I was under the impression we were supposed to be intermingling. May I sit?”

Sylvain grins and scoots closer to Dorothea, leaving room between him and Felix. “Of course. Does a pretty girl like you even have to ask?”

Edelgard’s gaze turns sharp and pointed. Sylvain’s grin widens. She sits down primly next to him, her back straight and chin high. On her other side, Felix sits up a little straighter, as if copying her. Sylvain slouches in his seat to compensate for the both of them. Dorothea giggles, one hand playing idly with the bottom of Ingrid’s hair.

“Congratulations on a battle well fought,” Edelgard says, taking a bite of her dessert.

“You as well,” Felix says, surprisingly courteous. “You’re lucky to have Petra in your class. She’s an accomplished swordsman.”

Sylvain tunes out their conversation, which quickly turns into a detailed discussion of foreign sword fighting techniques. Riveting stuff, just not to him. Dorothea and Ingrid are talking quietly next to him, lost to everything but each other. Right then. Sylvain finishes his meal quickly, bids his friends goodbye, and leaves.

He makes it as far as the landing at the bottom of the staircase before he hears footsteps behind him. He turns, expecting Felix or perhaps Ingrid, but instead it’s Edelgard, walking towards him purposefully.

“Sylvain,” Edelgard says, almost warmly. “If I could have a moment?”

Of course. People like Edelgard always have a hidden agenda. Sylvain laces his fingers together behind his neck and smiles down at her. He’d almost forgotten that he was taller than her. “For you? Anything.”

“Thank you.” Edelgard brushes her hair over her shoulder. She really is beautiful. Sylvain thinks she could cut his fingers off one by one and he’d still think she was beautiful. “I see you and Dorothea have become close.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sylvain replies. “I don’t think Dorothea likes me very much.” He winks at Edelgard, “Are you worried about me? How sweet.”

Edelgard touches a hand to her forehead. “I knew I should have listened to Hubert. He said this was a foolish idea.”

“What, you and me?” Sylvain takes half a step closer. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

“Sylvain!” Edelgard snaps. “Have some self-respect. You must know I have no interest in you romantically.”

Sylvain raises his hands in surrender. He likes pushing Edelgard’s buttons, thinks it’s kinda funny how righteously indignant she gets, but there’s a point where even he knows to step back. Edelgard might not kill him in his sleep, but Hubert certainly would. “No, I suppose not.” He glances around the empty corridor. There’s no one there but them, although that can’t be proven. “Is this something we should be talking about in public?”

“I assure you,” Edelgard says. “We’re at no danger of being overheard.” She smiles. Edelgard knows a great deal of secrets, and as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, Sylvain would like to know them too. “Now. About the existence of crests…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miklan's birthday passes. Sylvain tries to hold his friends together, but Ingrid has Dorothea now and Felix is unreachable. Dimitri loses part of himself at Remire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter four!! this chapter has a mention of child abuse, its very brief and isn't anything explicit, but if you don't want to read it you can skip the flashback scene that starts with "On Miklan's twenty-second birthday" and ends with "shaking apart with rage behind him"
> 
> This chapter is pretty short, but chapter 5 should be up tomorrow or Saturday probably, and then. I will finally be able to get into the canon divergence part of this fic! thanks for reading :)

They save Ingrid from yet another shitty suitor and Sylvain watches the way Dorothea runs to her as soon as it’s over. Ingrid practically jumps off her pegasus into Dorothea’s arms, and Dorothea near about swoops her off her feet, swaying slightly from side to side.

He looks away. Such things aren’t meant for people like him.

The trek back to the monastery is long, and they’re all tired. They should have spent more time resting after the battle, but Ailell had been miserable for the lot of them, born to the snow and cold as they were. Only Mercedes had seemed unaffected, cheerfully patching them up and doing all she could to keep their spirits up.

They’re suffering for it now, though. Sylvain dismounted from his horse, a real bitch of a mare, not long after they’d headed home, hoping to give her a break. She’s as ungrateful as ever, pinning her ears back as he walks next to her. Sylvain smiles and claps her on the neck, loosening her girth so that her walk is at least a little comfortable. “C’mon Lady, be a good girl.”

“Talking to your horse? Pathetic.”

Sylvain grins at Felix, his hand lingering on Lady’s neck. She’s a fine horse, much nicer than anything the Gautiers would have been able to breed. “She’s the only girl who’ll ever understand me,” he says with a wink, knocking his shoulder into Lady’s.

Her ears flatten against her head and she snaps at him. Sylvain ducks out of the way, laughing, and scratches her neck underneath her mane.

Felix looks unimpressed. “She certainly understands something about you.”

In front of them, Ashe stumbles for the eighth time in the past minute or two, and Dedue scoops him up into his arms. Sylvain smiles at the sight of them. Ashe is blushing, and he’s pretty sure Dedue is too, but so long as they’re happy.

“Ah, youth,” he says to Felix, gesturing up ahead towards their friends.

Felix doesn’t smile, but his scowl doesn’t deepend, and from Felix that’s essentially the same thing.

“How are you holding up?” Sylvain asks. “Do you need me to carry you?”

Felix rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

Sylvain throws an arm around Felix’s shoulder. Despite the heat and the exhaustion, he feels carefree in a way he hasn’t in months. Felix shoves him off, but there’s something that’s almost a smile on his face, and when Ingrid yells at them to cut it out already from behind them, Sylvain laughs harder than he has in weeks.

-

There’s something brewing. The others don’t notice it, but Sylvain does. The knights are gone this month, investigating strange happenings in Remire Village. The shadows at the monastery seem to stretch further, and the Professor has been keeping to herself more and more these days. They’re not supposed to know about it, but Byleth fainted the other day, just collapsed in the middle of speaking to Jeralt.

It’s making him uneasy, is all. Sylvain has seen plenty of things turn sour before, and he’d rather the monastery not be one of them as well. Miklan’s already tainted it for him, but the others don’t need that same kind of misery as well. They deserve better things.

Fuck, maybe all of them deserve something different.

-

“I know Edie went to talk to you,” Dorothea says to him. It’s a few days later, and she’d dropped by his room, ostensibly to ask if he knew where Ingrid was, although he’s finding that excuse more and more suspect every second. She leafs through one of the books on his desk. “Mind telling me what it was about?”

Sylvain laughs and steps up next to Dorothea, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Baby, are you jealous? Here I thought you had eyes for Ingrid, but you were just using her to get close to me, weren’t you?” He lowers his voice slightly and reaches up with his free hand to brush a strand of hair back from her face, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her.”

For just a moment, Sylvain thinks that Dorothea might actually be into him. She doesn’t move, and her eyes widen slightly, and for an instant Sylvain can see himself stepping forward and kissing her and thinks that she’ll even kiss him back.

It vanishes quickly, of course.

Her eyes narrow and she steps back, away from him. “Don’t be a pig,” she says.

“So you do have eyes for Ingrid,” Sylvain notes.

Dorothea sniffs, “That’s neither here nor there. Besides, that’s not what I asked you.”

Sylvain leans against the bookshelf and crosses one of his legs over the other. “Isn’t it?” Dorothea’s a lot more observant than people think she is. He supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. A commoner amongst all those nobles has to be shrewd to stay alive.

Dorothea crosses her arms, “No. It’s not.”

Edelgard hadn’t told him not to mention what they’d talked about, but he’s not stupid. “Nothing important,” he replies. “She just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being untoward towards any of her Black Eagles. Doing her duty as a house leader.”

“Of course,” Dorothea says. “Well, as fascinating as this is, I have a date. Give Ingrid my best.” She breezes out of the room, leaving Sylvain feeling like he gave away more than he meant to.

-

On the 18th day of the Red Wolf Moon, Sylvain wakes up in Ashe’s room. He’d told him it was to hide from a girl, and that’s partially true, he really did piss a girl off a couple of days ago, but he’s pretty sure she isn’t going to come after him.

Nah, he really just doesn’t want to have to look at the Lance of Ruin.

He should probably stop keeping it in his room. It honestly wouldn’t be that hard for someone to steal it, and then he’d be breaking his promise to Lady Rhea and his father, and him swearing on Miklan’s memory would mean jack shit.

“Are you alright?” Ashe says timidly “Are you that worried about that girl?”

Sylvain laughs, “No, I’m just… a little tired. Sorry.”

Ashe frowns, “Did you not sleep well? I’m so sorry! You could have had my bed if you wanted. I’ve slept on plenty of floors.”

“No, you don’t have to do something like that for me,” Sylvain rolls his shoulder, which admittedly does ache. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course,” Ashe says. “I… Sylvain, are you sure you’re alright?” “It’s, ah,” Sylvain rubs his hand over his face. He shouldn’t tell Ashe, he really shouldn’t. But honestly, Felix and Ingrid have probably forgotten by now, and even if Dimitri remembers it’ll be a useless conversation. “Well, it’s my brother’s birthday.”

“Oh,” Ashe’s voice is soft, hushed in the same way it is when he talks about Lonato. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvain’s voice is curt. He shouldn’t have told Ashe. The last thing he wants is Ashe fawning over him, his platitudes meaningless and cloying. He leaves before Ashe can say anything else, shutting the door gently behind him and trudging upstairs to change quickly before class.

He should have brought a change of clothes with him to Ashe’s room. Stupid. He’s always so stupid. He makes the climb up the stairs, passing by Felix and Dimitri’s rooms before pausing outside his door. Sylvain likes his room at the academy, he really does, but it feels like a tomb right now. It’s funny, how much Miklan has managed to permeate this place for him, despite never stepping foot in it.

Sylvain sighs and unlocks his door, swinging it over to reveal his bedroom.

In the daylight, his room looks almost identical to any other, save for some extra books and a few knicknacks. The Lance pulses weakly in the corner, one of its tendrils wiggling as if in greeting.

Sylvain swallows and walks up to it, “Happy birthday.” He kicks the edge of his desk and then swears under his breath. The Lance doesn’t move, because it’s a lance, not his brother, even if looking at it makes him feel just as sick. He turns away from it and leaves his room, slamming the door behind him.

-

On Miklan’s twenty-second birthday, Sylvain wakes up to yelling. This isn’t an unusual occurrence in the Gautier household, although normally it’s directed at him. Downstairs, something shatters against the floor. He glances over at the woman asleep next to him, then drags himself out of bed and throws on a dressing robe.

Downstairs, Miklan is screaming at their mother, the two of them hurtling insults back and forth. Margrave Gautier stands off to the side, his arms crossed and his face impassive. Sylvain has never been able to read his father’s expressions, and now is no different.

There’s a cracked plate on the floor near their mother, hence the shattering noise. It’s one of the good pieces of their formal dishware, the set that their mother keeps in a display case, which means she must be furious.

One of the stairs creaks under his feet, and Sylvain pulls his dressing gown a little tighter around him.

Miklan whirls around at the noise, a snarl contorting his facial features. He looks like a monster, and Sylvain’s glad that he’s not alone with his brother. The only other times he’s seen Miklan look this outraged have been bad for him. Not as bad as when Miklan’s quiet, but still. Bad. Cracked ribs, once. A headache for days another time.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Miklan snarls.

“Happy birthday,” Sylvain says, his eyes darting over to their parents.

Miklan laughs, the noise sliding down Sylvain’s spine like ice, “Fuck you. You knew, didn’t you?”

Sylvain’s heart is beating so fast. Seventeen years, and he still feels like he’s on the edge of a knife when he’s around Miklan. “Knew what?”

Margrave Gautier clears his throat, “Miklan has been disinherited. We deemed him no longer worth the risk that he presented.”

Sylvain’s mouth tastes like ash. He looks down at Miklan from his position on the stairs, and for the first time in his life his older brother looks small. “I see.” He smiles tightly at Miklan and climbs the stairs to head back to bed, leaving Miklan shaking apart with rage behind him.

-

“You know,” Sylvain says to Felix, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. The wood of the dock is cold to the touch, but the sun shines brightly down on the two of them. “I used to pretend Glenn was my brother sometimes.”

Felix snorts, “Really?”

Sylvain shrugs, “I grew out of it. I only thought about it when I was really little. He wasn’t anything like Miklan.”

Felix sits down on the dock next to him, “No, he wasn’t.”

It’s the Red Wolf Moon and it’s freezing out, but Sylvain pulls his shoes and socks off anyways. “I realized that I didn’t deserve a brother like Glenn, you know?”

Felix flinches, like, actually flinches and turns to Sylvain, abject horror on his face. “What?”

Sylvain shrugs, “You were such a sweet kid. Someone like you deserved a brother like Glenn.”

“And you deserved a brother like Miklan?” Sylvain expects Felix to sound pissed at him, but he just looks tired. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows, and Sylvain wants to reach out and smooth it with his thumb. Felix would probably bite his hand off before he got close enough.

“It’s not like that,” Sylvain says, an easy smile spreading across his face. “I’m not saying anyone deserved Miklan. I’m just saying that I woke up and realized I couldn’t change it.”

The line in Felix’s face doesn’t go anywhere. Sylvain sticks his feet in the pond and shudders as the icy water water touches his skin. It feels good though, even if he thinks his toes might go numb. It’s good to know that he’s still able to feel things.

“Do you miss him?” Felix’s voice is halting and unsure, but it’s still a kindness that Sylvain isn’t used to from Felix.

Sylvain lays down on the dock and looks up at the sky. He’s missed Miklan his whole life. This isn’t any different. “Nah,” he says. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s like I never had a brother.”

-

Sylvain’s been in fights with Dimitri plenty of times in the past six months. There have been sparring practices, in-house tournaments, routing of bandits, fuck, they killed Sylvain’s brother together. Him and Dimitri aren’t as close as they were when they were kids, but Sylvain feels like they’re at least starting to be on the same footing again. Dimitri is one of the first people he ever loved, and a part of him is always going to love Dimitri in the unrestrained way children love things.

Remire Village changes that.

They arrive to half-mad villagers turning on their friends, and for a moment Sylvain contemplates what it would be like to fight the Blue Lions. Dedue would be difficult to take down, but if Sylvain was on Lady he’d be faster than him. Mercedes, for all her magic, would crumple from the blow of a lance easily, as would Annette. As long as he stayed close to Ashe and didn’t let him get a shot off, he wouldn’t be too much trouble either.

Ingrid would be difficult on her pegasus, but he thinks he’d come out on top in the end, even if it was a longer fight. Dimitri and all his raw strength would be difficult, but he has the Lance of Ruin, and can rely on that to cut through any enemy.

Sylvain’s gaze lingers on Felix, who’s standing with his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He looks uneasy and like he’s trying to hide it, but he’s clearly not paying attention to what’s going on around him.

Sylvain could beat Felix, so long as he was decisive. Felix wouldn’t hold back, but Sylvain knows there’d be a moment before the killing blow where Felix’s hand faltered, and if he struck then, Felix wouldn’t have a chance.

Being at Remire feels like something is reaching into Sylvain’s chest and squeezes it until it’s a bloody pulp. He watches it happen to the other Blue Lions: watches Mercedes take Annette’s hand and Ashe’s open, unguarded expression shutter closed. Dedue stands just slightly in front of the others, as if he can shield them all from what’s coming, and Ingrid wraps her hand in her mount’s mane and ducks her face into her neck.

Felix stands at his side, steadfast and steady as always, but Sylvain doesn’t buy it.

And Dimitri…

Well, Dimitri looks like he’s falling to pieces. His breath hitches when they hear the screams of a child, and Professor Byleth stops to look at him. “Dimitri? Are you alright?”

Dimitri squares his shoulders. He so often looks like a king that Sylvain would be proud to serve, but right now he looks like a boy, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

He nods, as if too himself, and then raises his voice, “Don’t waste your time on me. Saving the villagers is more important. We haven’t a moment to lose!”

The rest of them chatter amongst themselves for a moment, but they fall silent once Dedue points out the figures in the distance.

Dimitri’s voice is a snarl. Every minute they’re here Sylvain knows him a little less. “Are they the ones responsible for this madness? If so...it's clear what must be done. Kill them all. Don't let a single one of them escape. Sever their limbs and crush their wicked skulls!”

They’re awful words, and they don’t bring any of them any comfort. Dimitri’s eyes are wide and angry, and there’s a curl to his lip and an eagerness to his stance that unnerves Sylvain. At his side, Felix shifts. Sylvain steps a little closer to him so Felix doesn’t have to take the step or even acknowledge that he wants to.

“Right,” the Professor says, looking down at their enemies. She unsheathes her sword, “To work.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette dances in the White Heron Cup. Sylvain and Ingrid have a heart to heart. Felix and Sylvain renew a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is SO long i hope you enjoy! tw for sylvain having a panic attack
> 
> thank u biz and isa for editing this monstrosity <3

Margrave Gautier sends a letter requesting his assistance in taking down the remnants of Miklan’s men. Or, more precisely, he requests for Sylvain and the Lance to come clean up his brother’s mess. Alone. Something about it makes bile rise in his throat and his stomach churn. Why would his father want him to go alone? It’s nonsensical. If the bandits weren’t a true threat, he wouldn’t have sent for him at all. By asking for him to come alone, his father is daring him to prove himself. It’s bullshit, and Sylvain’s tired of it.

The professor agrees to travel with him to deal with his father’s request, and the rest of the Blue Lions come as well. Sylvain doesn’t trust his father, doesn’t trust himself. He half expects to see Miklan back at home in Gautier territory, but all that’s waiting are some pitiful bandits and more death.

Tomorrow, they’ll head to Fraldarius territory to deal with a request from the Duke, and Felix is unsurprisingly annoyed about it. He makes a nuisance of himself at camp, pacing and snapping at anyone who dares to question him. He talks half of the class into sparring with him, first Sylvain and Ingrid, then Dimitri and Dedue, before the Professor finally sighs and picks up her sword. When the two of them are done, Felix looks as mad as he did beforehand, but his hair is sticking to his face and he sits down next to all of them at the fire.

Sylvain looks into the fire and realizes with a pang that, as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, it still feels like home. They’re in the woods between Gautier and Fraldarius and statistically speaking, he probably hasn’t been here before, but he could have been. Him, Ingrid, Dimitri, and Felix could have camped in this very spot, out with Glenn and at least one member of Fraldarius’s staff to ensure that they didn’t accidentally kill themselves while playing. 

The night is frigid in the way that only Faerghus nights can manage, the cold biting into Sylvain’s skin and turning his bones to ice. The smell of the smoke soothes them all, even Felix, and they stay up too late crowded around the fire and talking.

Ashe is the first to fall asleep, nodding off against Dedue’s shoulder. Annette follows suit soon after, collapsing on Dedue’s other shoulder. Sylvain stifles a laugh at Dedue, sitting perfectly still so as not to disturb the two of them. Dedue smiles, looking utterly at peace despite the circumstances, and Mercedes walks over and shakes Annette, pulling her to her feet and leading her over to one of the tents. One by one, they all head to bed, until only Sylvain and the Professor are left.

“Are you doing alright?” Byleth asks.

The fire pops and crackles into the night. Sylvain sighs, “I’m fine. It’s just a little weird to be home.”

Byleth nods.

Sylvain stands and rolls his shoulders, “Professor, I’m not really in the mood for a heart to heart right now. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Of course,” Byleth says. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Sylvain says, ducking into his tent and ignoring any thoughts of home.

-

“Did you hear? Annette’s been chosen as our representative,” Sylvain relates the latest piece of gossip to Ingrid who, as much as she would like to pretend otherwise, is surely eager to hear it. The White Heron Cup is in fourteen days, and Sylvain’s more excited for it than anything else that has happened at the monastery. A nice night with pretty girls and his friends - it sounds like something out of a dream.

“I’m relieved the professor didn’t choose me,” she confesses. “I volunteered, but I didn’t want to.”

“Did you know Felix is helping her practice?” Sylvain and Ingrid are in the stables tending to their mounts. Lady threw a horseshoe the other day, and even though she’s been looked over, Sylvain won’t believe it until he sees that she’s fine for himself.

Ingrid’s pegasus is high-strung, and there isn’t enough time in the world for Ingrid to exercise her as much as she needs. She’s gotten put into the rotation for upper level flying practices, but most people aren’t exactly overjoyed to ride Ingrid’s hellion of a mare. Sylvain would, if she’d let him near her.

Mietta is fine boned and delicate, and loves Ingrid with her whole heart. She’s smaller than most of the pegasi Sylvain’s seen, but he knows she’s from the Empire, not Faerghus. Any horse bred in Faerghus needs to be made of strong stuff to survive the winters there.

Lady snaps at Mietta and the golden colored pegasus shies to the side, swishing her tail. Ingrid clucks at her and shoots Sylvain a dirty look. “Control your horse,” she says.

Sylvain bumps his shoulder into Lady’s and she pins her ears back, but then bumps her shoulder against his. “Lady’s a free spirit,” he says. “I understand that about her. That’s why she respects me.”

“That horse has never respected anyone,” Ingrid says. “And I did know that Felix was helping Annette practice. She asked me if I thought he’d say yes.”

“Why would you ask Felix for help?” Sylvain says, wrinkling his nose. “With anything, let alone dancing.”

Ingrid laughs, “Do you wish she’d asked you? I don’t envy him. He’s going to be lucky if he can still feel his feet by the time they’re done.”

Sylvain feels terribly off-kilter when he thinks about Felix helping Annette. Are they alone? In her dorm room? He can see it now - Felix’s hand around her waist, their hands clasped to the side as they twirl around. Perhaps Annette will say something that will make Felix laugh, and they’ll step even closer to each other.

“Sylvain? Are you alright?”

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped. Lady has taken advantage of the sudden lull to stuff her face, and up ahead Ingrid and Mietta peer back at the two of them, wearing almost identical expressions. Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, “Of course.” He tugs at Lady’s lead rope, “C’mon you old nag.” He drags her head up and walks to where Ingrid is waiting. “Sorry.”

Ingrid nods slowly, “It’s fine.” They continue walking, with Ingrid glancing at him every few seconds.

“What?” Sylvain says at last, “Is there something on my face?”

“No, I just-” Ingrid frowns. “Are you jealous? Of Felix?”

“No,” Sylvain snaps. “Annette’s like a kid sister.”

“But you are jealous, aren’t you?” Ingrid asks, a sly grin on her face. “Are you? Sylvain, are you jealous of Annette?”

Sylvain turns his head away from Ingrid so she can’t see whatever expression is on his face. “No. I’m not jealous of Annette. I just…” he shakes his head, “Forget it.”

-

Things continue on. Sylvain and Dimitri are paired together to do work in the stables and it’s a miserable experience. Sylvain isn’t sure what the professor is hoping to accomplish with such a thing. Him and Dimitri aren’t going to become friends again by brushing horses.

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to the ball,” Dimitri says, picking up a curry comb and getting to work on one of the geldings.

“Of course!” Sylvain says, picking up the horse’s hoof and setting about cleaning it. “Aren’t you?”

“You know I don’t do well with such occasions,” Dimitri says. “Such things are out of my comfort zone.”

Sylvain sets the horse’s hoof back down and pats him on the shoulder, moving on to the next one. “Well, your Highness,” the gelding stretches his hind leg out, pushing more of his weight into Sylvain’s hand. He grunts and readjusts, letting him finish his stretch before cleaning his foot. “If you need any dance lessons, I’m sure Annette would be happy to help.”

“Of course,” Dimitri says, sounding a little disappointed.

Sylvain stands and steps forward, directly into Dimitri. “Oh, I apologize,” Dimitri is as stilted as ever, and something about his expression strikes Sylvain as odd.

He smiles and rests a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly, “No worries. If you want, I’ll help you sneak out of the ball early.”

Dimitri half smiles, “I do not think such a thing would be befitting of a prince, but I thank you.”

Sylvain’s hand falls back to his side and he steps around Dimitri to the other side of the horse, picking up his left hind. “Right. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

-

There’s a rainstorm at Garreg Mach, the first bad one Sylvain’s seen in a long time. Faerghus is prone to blizzards, not thunderstorms. Him and Ingrid had been out with their mounts when the storm had hit, and although Lady is content to run around in a storm like a menace, Mietta is made of more delicate stuff. Ingrid is in her stall fussing over her, and Sylvain grabs a flake of hay and drops it onto the straw bedding of her stall. Mietta flares her wings out when she sees him, her ears pricked. Sylvain clucks at her, smiling when she settles and starts picking at her hay.

“Thanks,” Ingrid says, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. They’re both wet from the rain, but inside the stables the storm seems distant and almost insignificant.

Sylvain pulls his soaked jacket off and hangs it on one of the hooks in the aisle, “Of course. Is she gonna be alright?”

Ingrid smooths a hand down Mietta’s blaze and kisses her on the nose, “Yeah, she’ll be fine. Still, I’d prefer to stay with her a little longer.”

Sylvain nods and leans against the wall, settling in to wait out the storm. A flash of lightning illuminates the aisle, and the door at the end of the stables flings open. Mietta jumps to the side and Ingrid rushes to her, stroking her neck and hushing her. “See who that is,” she snaps, “and tell them to shut up.”

Sylvain sticks his head out over the stall door to do just that, only to see Felix stalking towards the two of them. He looks like a drowned cat, his hair falling out of his bun and hanging limply around his face. “This weather is a disgrace,” he snaps, undoing his vest and hanging it up next to Sylvain’s. “I could hear your foolishness from the Knight’s Hall.”

“Oh right,” Ingrid says, “you were practicing with Annette, right?”

Is that the shadow of a blush on Felix’s cheeks? Sylvain can’t tell if he’s imagining it. “Yes,” Felix says. He yanks his hair down, grimacing when it caches on the leather tie. Sylvain can’t remember the last time he saw Felix with his hair down. It softens him, masks the harsh angle of his cheekbones and the jut of his chin. He looks lovely, which isn’t a word Sylvain associates with Felix often.

Sylvain sinks to the ground, leaning up against the stall wall. Mietta looks at him curiously, but goes back to munching away at her hay. Ingrid rolls her eyes and sits next to him, reaching out to stroke Mietta’s head.

Felix’s scowl deepens, “Aren’t you not supposed to sit next to a horse?”

Ingrid waves a hand, “Shut up Felix. It’s fine.”

Sylvain snorts, “Yeah. Shut up Felix.”

A rumble of thunder sounds and Mietta lifts her head, her long ears swivelling to catch the noise. Ingrid whispers nonsense to her under her breath and Mietta drops her head back down, shoving her nose into Ingrid’s hair. Ingrid laughs and brings a hand up to scratch the pegasus’ cheek.

“You’re scaring Mietta,” Sylvain says. “Come sit.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but sits on Sylvain’s other side. They’re all damp and are going to be covered in straw, but Ingrid and Sylvain made peace with that years ago. Ingrid has long since given up on salvaging her hair and has it pulled back from her face. It makes her look younger, and also gives Sylvain the urge to tug on her hair like she’s a little kid again. There’s a smudge of dirt on Sylvain’s face and hay stuck to his pants. Felix, on the other hand, looks almost sophisticated next to the two of them, sitting perfectly straight on the ground, back rigid and held a careful six inches away from the wall. He always forgets Felix doesn’t love horses like they do.

Mietta goes back to her hay, the stall filling with the sounds of her snacking and the patter of rain. Another rumble of thunder echoes through the stables, but the golden pegasus doesn’t seem to mind, her mind adequately taken off of such things. Sylvain smiles at the mare, and his smile only deepens when Ingrid catches him doing it. She laughs and punches him in the shoulder, and Sylvain cackles, knocking his elbow into her side.

“What?” Felix says, frowning.

“Horses,” Sylvain replies. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Felix crosses his arms, clearly pouting, although he would never admit to it.

“Well?” Sylvain asks, “Are you two going to the ball?”

Felix sighs, “I’m required to, aren’t I?”

Sylvain shrugs, “I don’t know how much the Professor is actually going to enforce that. You know how she is.”

“I don’t want to go either,” Ingrid says, pulling a piece of hay out of Mietta’s mouth and pulling it methodically apart in her hands. “Annette and Mercedes keep talking about doing my makeup.”

“You don’t want to look pretty?” Sylvain smiles at Ingrid when he says it, and she smacks him in the side. If the two of them continue on like this, they’ll both have bruises tomorrow.

“Shush,” she says. “I don’t know how to say no to either of them.” “Right,” Sylvain drawls. “And it has nothing to do with Dorothea.”

Ingrid’s cheeks color slightly, and she tucks her hair behind her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says primly.

“Dorothea only cares about her future,” Felix says. “It won’t last.”

“Felix!” Sylvain cries, “Don’t say that.”

Ingrid’s shoulders cave in, and she fixes her gaze on her hands. “No,” she says quietly. “He’s right.”

Sylvain shoots a dirty look at Felix, and he shrugs unapologetically. It was a shitty way to put it, but the sentiment behind Felix’s words isn’t wrong. Ingrid is neither wealthy or of especially important blood, and as much as Dorothea adores her, Sylvain knows that neither of them will be able to live on love alone. 

“The ball will be fun,” Sylvain says, in an attempt to unite them in their disagreement.

Felix scowls, digging into the bedding with one of his feet.

Mietta continues to munch on her hay beside them, and Ingrid smiles up at her. “It could be nice,” she admits, “to dress up for just one night.”

Sylvain stretches his arms out above his head and then drapes an arm over Felix and Ingrid each, “I don’t have a thing to wear.”

“We have school-assigned formal wear,” Felix says tersely, shrugging his arm off. “It was part of our tuition.”

Sylvain kicks at Felix and Ingrid snorts, winding a few pieces of hay around her wrist like a bracelet. Ingrid scoots a little closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Sylvain’s arm curls around her shoulders and he hooks his chin on top of hers. He smiles at Felix, who, predictably, doesn’t move. Ingrid’s hair smells like lavender and rain and hay, none of which are particularly bad things. Mietta seems completely unconcerned with the storm, happily chomping on her hay. Felix doesn’t let Sylvain put his arm around his shoulders again, but he watches them until a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He looks up at the pegasus instead, that smile still in place.

“It’s gonna be a good month,” Sylvain announces to them both, “I’m sure of it.”

-

The night of the ball, Sylvain lounges in Ingrid’s room and watches Mercedes and Annette fuss over her for what feels like hours beforehand. Both girls have brought their own makeup, and Ingrid sits in front of the mirror with wide eyes. Sylvain bires back the urge to laugh, as if he didn’t spend an hour messing with his hair earlier today.

“Surely you’re almost done,” Ingrid says. She’s already dressed in her formal wear, as are both of the other girls. They look nice, even if the outfits are a little modest for his taste.

“Not quite!” Annette says cheerfully, brandishing a makeup brush like a sword.

Mercedes laughs and combs through Ingrid’s hair, twisting it up with a golden comb. Annette bends down over Ingrid and takes her chin in her hands, frowning and sticking her tongue out as she dusts a coat of powder over Ingrid’s face. Sylvain zones back out, flipping through the book he brought and half-listening to the girls’ bickering.

“Alright!” Mercedes announces, clapping her hands together. “All done!” Ingrid groans, “Finally.”

Sylvain looks up as she’s turning around, and his breath sticks in his chest. He’s looked at Ingrid more days than not, but he can’t remember the last time he saw her looking so gentle. Mercedes and Annette have done beautiful work, and if he’d never met her before he’d spend half the night trying to get her to come home with him. She looks like a princess from one of Glenn’s storybooks.

“Wow,” Sylvain says, biting back a million other things. “You look like a girl, Ingrid.”

Ingrid scowls, and the effect is gone and she’s his Ingrid again. “I’m always a girl,” she snaps, but she touches the intricate updo Mercedes has wrangled her hair into gently. “I do like my hair though.”

“I would love to escort all three of you, but I’m afraid I only have two arms,” Sylvain says, smiling at the girls.

Annette laughs, one of her hands curling into her sleeve, “You’re so silly Sylvain! Felix is escorting me. I’m supposed to meet him outside my room in,” she checks the clock, “five minutes ago! Oh no!” Annette rushes out of the room before he can get another word in, leaving her bag behind in her haste.

Mercedes sighs and picks up her friend’s purse, tucking it in with hers. “Oh, Annie,” she says fondly.

Sylvain smiles around the sour taste in his mouth, “Well ladies? I suppose there’s enough of me to go around now.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes but tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow anyways. Mercedes follows suit, and the three of them head out towards the ball.

-

“How is it you ended up with two dates?” Lorenz says haughtily, arching an eyebrow at him soon after the three of them enter the ballroom.

“Guess I really am better with the ladies than you are,” Sylvain says with a wink, laughing to himself as they stroll away. “Thank you for that,” he says to Mercedes and Ingrid. “We’ve been having an argument about girls, and it feels good to prove him wrong.”

Ingrid snorts, “Right. Well, my time being your date officially ends now.” She lets go of his arm, turning towards the snack table.

“Hey, Ingrid,” Sylvain says, catching her hand. “Wait a second?”

Ingrid turns, frowning slightly.

Sylvain tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You really do look lovely,” he says. “I uh, thought you should know I wasn’t kidding.”

Ingrid flushes. “Thanks Sylvain. Have a good night.” She walks away, leaving Sylvain alone with Mercedes.

“That was sweet of you,” Mercedes says. “She was terribly worried about you boys making fun of her.”

Sylvain frowns. “All Ingrid does is make fun of me.”

Mercedes hums and leads him out onto the dance floor. “She’s more sensitive than you think she is.”

“I’ve known Ingrid longer than you,” Sylvain says, resting a hand on Mercedes’ waist as they begin to dance. “I think I know how sensitive she is.” Whatever Mercedes is implying, he doesn’t like it. He’s been Ingrid’s best friend since Glenn died. He’s the one that got her to leave the room, not Mercedes.

“Of course,” Mercedes says, blinking guilelessly up at him. “I’m sorry to imply otherwise.”

A tap on his shoulder saves him from further conversation, and he looks up to see Ferdinand von Aegir, looking as much a poster child for the Adrestian Empire as ever. “I apologize,” he says, “but could I cut in?” Dorothea waves at him from over Ferdinand’s shoulder and motions him towards her.

Mercedes laughs like a bell. “Hello Ferdinand. Of course.” She lets go of Sylvain’s hand and reaches up to pat his cheek fondly, then accepts Ferdinand’s hand and lets him lead her off.

“Thank you,” Dorothea says, stepping into his arms and continuing the dance where they left off. “I thought Ferdie would never leave me alone.”

“Ferdinand’s fine,” Sylvain says absentmindedly, watching him with Mercedes. “A little overbearing, but nice enough.”

“Not you, too,” Dorothea says. “He’s so pompous, always talking about his nobility and his duty. Just once, I’d like to hear him talk about something else.”

Sylvain has heard Ferdinand talk about plenty of other things, but Dorothea is clearly annoyed at him over something and pointing out that now likely wouldn’t go over well.

“I can talk of other things,” Sylvain says, grinning at her.

Dorothea rolls her eyes. “Right, like other women?”

Sylvain twirls her and she goes effortlessly, an absolute vision on the dance floor. How Annette managed to beat her in the White Heron Cup, he truly has no idea. If he didn’t know Dimitri so well, he’d think that the crown prince might have bribed one of the judges.

“Baby,” Sylvain says, “you know I only want to talk about you.” He winks and Dorothea laughs, coming back to rest light and airy in his arms.

“Sure,” Dorothea says warmly. “Of course.”

Their dance concludes like that, with both of them half-flirting and neither of them seeming to entirely mean it. Afterwards, Dorothea curtsies and heads off to find either Ingrid or her next victim. Sylvain plucks up his courage and walks over to where Edelgard is holding court at the edge of the dance floor.

“My lady,” Sylvain says to her, bowing deeply. “A dance?”

Behind Edelgard’s shoulder, Hubert narrows his eyes, his shoulders going rigid. Sylvain flashes the most obnoxious grin he can manage at him before extending his hand to Edelgard. “Of course,” Edelgard says, taking his hand delicately and letting him lead her onto the dance floor.

Every time he’s around Edelgard, Sylvain knows that he’s being evaluated. He’s come up wanting every time, but someday, maybe, that will change. He doesn’t think anyone but Hubert has ever earned her respect before. It seems like a nice challenge.

“I assume you wanted to dance for reasons other than to turn heads,” Edelgard says, letting him lead her into a waltz.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind turning heads,” Sylvain says, turning the two of them in a smooth circle. Edelgard is a fine dancer. She’s not as graceful as Dorothea, but there’s something in the way she holds herself that makes it easy to overlook that.

“Sylvain,” Edelgard admonishes. “Answer the question.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Sylvain admits. He catches Felix’s eye over Edelgard’s shoulder. Felix frowns, and Sylvain darts his gaze away. He hadn’t thought about how this would look to his friends.

“Have you?” Edelgard says, sounding as in control and unaffected as ever.

Sylvain swallows, looking down at the girl in his arms instead of at any of the others. “I think you might have a point. I’m not sure how I fit into it, but…” he trails off, “we should talk about it again sometime.”

Edelgard smiles, faint and pleased. “Excellent.” The song finishes and Sylvain bows again to Edelgard, watching her sweet back across the floor to rejoin Hubert. He bends down to whisper something in her ear, and she nods.

Sylvain turns away and walks over to the punch table where Felix is sulking. What exactly has he just done?

“What was that about?” Felix asks, voice low.

Sylvain grins. “Can’t a guy dance with a pretty girl in peace?”

“Not if that girl is Edelgard,” Felix says, his eyes narrowed.

Sylvain throws an arm around Felix’s shoulders. “I think she’s into me. Her lapdog looks pissed as hell about it, don’t you think?”

Felix scowls and shrugs Sylvain’s arm off of him. “Don’t touch me.”

“C’mon,” Sylvain says. “Liven up. We’re at a party!”

Felix does not, in fact, liven up. He grouses about the whole event and eats pieces of meat from the banquet table with Ingrid, a sour expression on his face. Sylvain laughs at them both and sets about getting the entire house to dance with him.

Annette is in high demand due to her victory in the White Heron Cup, but she makes time for Sylvain, and doesn’t even step on his foot. After, she marches up to Felix and extends a hand, and he rolls his eyes but takes it, letting her lead him onto the dance floor.

“How is it,” Ingrid says, “that we’ve known Felix our whole lives and he listens to Annette more than both of us?”

Sylvain shrugs and watches Felix place his hand on Annette’s waist. “Girl’s a force of nature.”

“They look happy,” Mercedes says lightly. “I’m pleased Annie and Felix are friends. I worry for her.”

Sylvain watches Annette laugh at something Felix said. Felix has the grace of an expert swordsman, and he lifts a hand to twirl her, which is laughable considering how close in height they are. Sylvain nods slowly. “They look good together.”

He turns to Ingrid. “Dance with me? We haven’t yet.”

“Sure,” Ingrid says, setting down her meat skewer. “Why not?”

“You wound me,” Sylvain says, placing a hand over his heart.

Ingrid laughs and lets him lead her onto the dance floor. She’s never been an especially great dancer - Glenn used to let her lead in dance practice, and the habit has never quite gone away - but it’s nice to be with her nonetheless. In many ways, she’s his best friend. The dance finishes and Ingrid doesn’t go anywhere, so they dance again, and again, and again.

-

“What are you doing here?”

Felix turns, his face half in shadow from the Goddess Tower. “I just wanted a bit of quiet.”

Sylvain walks forward, his boots clicking on the floor. “And you chose to come to the most romantic spot in the monastery to do so?”

“Why are you here?” Felix asks, voice sharp.

Sylvain smiles. “To make a promise.”

“That’s not an answer,” Felix snaps, but he doesn’t press him anymore.

“Hey, Felix?” Sylvain says quietly. “Do you remember the promise we made when we were kids?”

Felix crosses his arms. “Of course.”

“I think we should renew it,” Sylvain says. “Call it a hunch.”

Felix frowns, straightening almost imperceptibly. “What do you mean?”

Sylvain swallows. “I don’t know how long this peace is going to last.”

“It’s childish,” Felix says. “To think that a promise made here will come true. I don’t see why it has any more meaning than the one we made as children. There’s no reason to renew such a thing.”

Sylvain thinks about Edelgard’s voice, steady and uncompromising as she spoke of her sorrow for the things that had happened to him as the result of his crest. There’s something she knows that he doesn’t, and he’d like to figure it out. He’s always liked strategy games, and speaking with Edelgard is just another one of them. This, too, is a strategy, he tells himself, looking down at the curl of Felix’s frown and the tension in his hands.

“Indulge me,” Sylvain says softly.

Felix looks up at him, his lip curled. “I’m never going to be who I used to be.”

“I know,” Sylvain says. “I don’t want you to be.”

“If it were true..,” Felix trails off. “I suppose I would be willing to make a pledge.”

Just as when they were children, Sylvain feels certain that whatever he’s feeling is too large of an emotion for him to handle. He wasn’t built for such things. But, regardless, he smiles, his chest tight, “Right. Just like when were kids, yeah?”

Felix nods minutely. The skin around his eyes is tight, and the line of his jaw is rigid. Sometimes, Sylvain imagines putting his hand there, just to see if Felix would follow through on his threats of biting his hand off or if he’d close his eyes and relax for the first time in four years.

Sylvain takes a deep breath. It was such an easy promise to make, all those years ago, but with every year that’s passed, its become a little harder to carry.

“I’ll die when you die,” he says, the words feeling far more severe than they had as a child. “I promise.”

Felix chews his lip, his eyes darting up to meet Sylvain’s for an instant before moving away again. “I pledge to the goddess,” he says solemnly. “We’ll die together.”

From Felix, it almost feels a threat.

-

Four days later, Dimitri turns eighteen. They don’t have a party, and there’s none of the circumstance that there would have been back in Faerghus, but Lord Rodrigue sends a letter, and Byleth sneaks food out from the dining hall and eats with all of them in the Blue Lions classroom. They shove all the tables to the side and Mercedes and Annette lay out blankets.

Byleth looks down at all eight of them, lounging on a mishmash of quilts and pillows pillaged from their rooms and laughs, for the first time in Sylvain’s memory. Dimitri’s face lights up the sun as she sits down with all of them, breaking bread and sharing food.

“He’s happy,” Dedue remarks, nodding towards Dimitri.

Sylvain smiles, “Yeah. He is, isn’t it?”

“The Academy has been good to him,” Dedue says. “There were many days where I worried he would not be happy again.”

“You’re a good friend,” Sylvain says, turning to Deude and laying a hand on his arm. “I don’t think I’ve told you that before, but I’m glad to know you.”

“Are you alright, Sylvain?”

Sylvain claps Dedue on the back. “Of course I am. Stop checking on me; it’s not your job to take care of all of us.”

Dedue doesn’t respond, but he squeezes Sylvain’s shoulder before turning to answer a question from Ashe. There’s a faint blush on Ashe’s face, and Sylvain looks away from the two of them with a small smile.

Dimitri and Felix are sitting together, and it really is a special night if that’s the case. Dimitri says something to Felix and Felix shakes his head, but he doesn’t move away. The prince of Faerghus looks nothing like a boar and everything like the little boy Sylvain used to know. He hopes that Felix can see that as well.

-

The battle in the chapel goes fine, up until it doesn’t. The monsters are students, and Captain Jeralt falls at the hand of Monica von Ochs - no, Kronya.

Sylvain watches the last of the students crumple to the ground, their screams echoing in his ears. Where did the professor go? He can still hear the screams. He can still hear Miklan’s screams. They’re so loud - how do the others not hear them? The bodies on the ground grow long limbs and sharp teeth and no one else reacts. Sylvain stumbles backwards, away from the horrors in front of him, and falls, throwing out his arms to catch himself and landing hard in the dirt.

The rest of the Blue Lions sound as if they’re underwater, and he can’t make out a single word they’re saying. Dimitri is gone, although Sylvain can’t remember where he went. The Professor isn’t there either - why isn’t she there? Where did she go?

“Sylvain?” Ingrid touches his arm and Sylvain flinches away, bringing a hand up to shield his face.

Ingrid draws her hand away and Sylvain wants her to put it back, wants to soothe the upset expression on her face but the words to do so won’t come. He opens his mouth and a strangled noise comes out. He sounds like he’s choking. He sounds like there’s no air in his lungs and he breathes in to prove to himself that no, there definitely is, but all that he does is gape like a dying fish.

Ingrid hovers at the edge of his field of vision, and Sylvain needs to tell her he’s alright. “I-” he cuts off, gasping for breath again. There isn’t any air. How are the others breathing? There’s no air.

“Sylvain,” Ingrid’s voice is low and measured, and if Sylvain was in his right mind he might be able to detect the undercurrent of fear it carries. “Stop it.”

“I-” He repeats, unable to focus on what she’s saying. He can still hear the screams.

“His Highness gets like this sometimes,” Dedue says quietly. 

Mercedes sinks to her knees next to him. “Sylvain? You need to breathe.”

He can’t breathe. What can’t the rest of them understand about that?

Felix stands behind Ingrid, his brows drawn close together. He looks worried, and Sylvain needs to fix it, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how.

Annette is at Mercedes’ side and extends her hand to touch him, and then freezes when he tenses up again. 

“We should move him,” Ashe says. “I think something here is upsetting him.”

“He doesn’t want to be touched.” Felix’s voice is as sharp as one of his blades.

“I know,” Ashe says. “but I think he needs to not be here.”

Sylvain doesn’t understand what they’re talking about. Miklan’s screams reverberate around in his skull, mixing with the cries from the students on the ground. He looks up at the others, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice cracks as he says it, and he knows it won’t be enough.

“None of us are angry with you,” Mercedes says.

Sylvain shakes his head. She’s lying. He knows that she’s lying. Ashe crouches down in front of him, “Sylvain? Can you stand up?”

“Sorry,” he says again, but he pushes himself to his feet. He’s shaking.

“That’s good,” Ashe says warmly, smiling brightly. Dedue steps next to Ashe, his presence strong and unyielding. Dedue doesn’t seem worried, and that’s a good sign. If Dedue was worried, they’d be fucked.

Ashe leads him away from the dead, and the rest of the Blue Lions follow, clustering together. Dimitri and the Professor are still gone, and Sylvain still doesn’t know where they went. They end up back near the monastery proper, and Sylvain sits on the ground, leaning up against the wall with the six of them gathered loosely around him. Ashe kneels next to him, talking to him quietly about something Sylvain can’t quite place.

“Sorry,” Sylvain says, once he feels like himself again. “It - reminded me of something, that’s all.” He can still hear Miklan’s distorted cry as he turned into that monster. Those poor students… 

Are they all going to end up like that someday?

“It’s quite alright,” Mercedes says, crouching down next to him. “Can I touch you?” Sylvain nods, jerkily, and she takes his hand at once, squeezing it and smiling gently at him.

“Is there anything else you need?” Dedue asks. He sits down next to Ashe, the motion far more fluid than Sylvain would have expected from someone of his height.

Sylvain shakes his head, “I don’t know.” Mercedes is still holding his hand and it’s nice.

“Has this happened before?” Dedue’s voice is gentle and calm, and it grounds him.

Sylvain relaxes a little more and looks up. Felix and Ingrid stand a little further away than Annette, who’s still hovering awkwardly at Mercedes’ side. They’re holding hands, he realizes, and feels sick that he’s the one that brought that expression onto Ingrid’s face. “No,” he says. “This hasn’t happened before.” Felix’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything.

Dedue nods, “I won’t lie and say this won’t happen again. You need to concentrate on your breathing when it happens. His-,” he stops talking. Next to him, Ashe makes a soft noise and scoots a little closer to Dedue. He’s missing things - Ashe and Dedue have clearly become close, and he’s not sure when it happened. Dedue shakes his head, “Having someone else count breaths for you may help.”

“Right.” Sylvain closes his eyes and tries to even out his breathing. “I’m going to be fine guys, really. I think I need to be alone.”

They all exchange a look. “I’m not sure we should leave you,” Mercedes says. Annette nods enthusiastically.

“I’ll stay with him,” Felix says.

Ashe grimaces. “Felix, I’m not sure if that’s the best idea. I think-”

“It’s fine,” Sylvain says. “That’s fine.”

Felix nods and crosses his arms, looking at the others as if daring them to tell him he can’t stay. After some more dithering, they finally acquiesce, and one by one they slowly leave. 

Ingrid steps towards him and then stops. “I,” she shakes her head. “I don’t know. Let me know if I can help.” She walks away, leaving Sylvain and Felix alone.

Felix doesn’t speak or move, just watches, and Sylvain sits with his hands laced behind his head and works on remembering how to breathe. He doesn’t entirely feel like himself, but he smiles at Felix from his spot against the wall. “You can leave, I’m fine.”

Felix doesn’t respond. He walks over to stand in front of him and stops, looking down at him. Sylvain doesn’t have it in him to smile, and he tips his head back to look up at the sky. Felix’s eyes dart down to take in the long line of his throat, then he looks away.

“You kept apologizing,” Felix says. “It was like you didn’t recognize us.”

“I’ll always recognize you,” Sylvain says, the confession falling out of his mouth far too sincere and earnest for what they are. He’s shaken after what had happened earlier. It’s as if every bit of energy has been drawn out of him.

“Then why were you apologizing?”

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, “I thought Miklan was there. That was, uh,” he stops and brings his knees to his chest, looking determinedly at a spot over Felix’s shoulder. “That was what upset me. The students turning into monsters.”

“Ah,” Felix says, and doesn’t elaborate. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Sylvain replies. “Sit with me?” Felix sighs as though this is a tremendous burden, but he sits down next to Sylvain nonetheless. Sylvain brings his head forward to rest on his knees, breathing shallowly until he feels like himself again. Felix doesn’t say a word the whole time, but he doesn’t leave, and that’s enough. He’s enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard reveals herself as the Flame Emperor. Dimitri doesn't take it well. Sylvain does something he'll regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i DID have to up the chapter count bc we uh. definitely have more than 5 chapters left folks. anyways thanks biz for editing! hope you enjoy~

On Ingrid’s birthday, they wake up to a thick layer of snow covering the monastery. It’s not much by Faerghus standards, but it’s the most they’ve seen the entire time they’ve been at the Officer’s Academy. Ingrid knocks on Sylvain’s door in the morning, her warmest coat already on and a scarf wrapped around her neck. Her cheeks are flushed, but she’s smiling, the sort of smile he used to take for granted.

“Happy Birthday,” Sylvain says.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” Ingrid says, somehow managing to sound like she’s scolding him even in relation to something as simple as this. “We don’t have long before class.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes, but shuts the door and starts looking for his winter clothes. He can hear Ingrid performing the same routine next door with Dimitri, and he smiles. It’s just like when they were kids, and Ingrid used to jump on their beds at the first snowfall and force them to go out and have snowball fights. No matter where they are, they’ll always be children of Faerghus. Even though his birthday is in the Garland Moon, amidst the buzzing of insects and the heat of the sun, he feels most at home in the snow and ice.

He gets dressed quickly, and stomps downstairs to join the others. Felix is already in the grass outside of their rooms, wearing a coat with an almost comically oversized fur hood. 

Sylvain yawns, “Good morning.”

Felix stretches, “Did she wake you up too?”

Sylvain nods and rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah. It’s her birthday, it’s not like we could really say no.”

Felix sighs, “I suppose.”

Dimitri and Ingrid walk outside, Ingrid smiling from ear to ear. “First snow!” She cries, and scoops up a handful of snow and flings it at Sylvain.

He ducks out of the way, laughing, and lunges at Ingrid, picking her up and twirling her around. Felix looks on with a small smile, and Dimitri steps a little closer to him. It must be something in the air, because Felix’s smile doesn’t dissipate, even when Sylvain watches Dimitri turn towards Felix and quietly say something.

Sylvain drops Ingrid unceremoniously into the snow and she grabs her collar and yanks him down after her, shoving snow down his shirt.

“You two look ridiculous,” Felix says, arms crossed.

“It’s my birthday,” Ingrid says, looking unreasonably haughty. “You have to be nice to me.”

Felix, who has never been nice to anyone ever, even on their birthday, shakes his head. “Fools.”

Sylvain throws a snowball at him. It hits Felix directly in the face, and Dimitri covers his mouth with his hand, hiding his laugh. Ingrid, still laying in the snow, laughs and shoves more snow down Sylvain’s shirt. He yelps in a very dignified and sophisticated way, then flings a snowball at her. She’s smiling in a way that’s near unrecognizable to him now. Winter used to be such a happy time. What’s happened to all of them?

-

Tomas - no, Solon - and his people are waiting in the forest. It’s a trap, everything about this screams that it’s a trap, but Dimitri’s eyes are full of something that defies any logic and the Professor’s grief has rendered her immune to everything else. 

“Fighting Tomas…” Sylvain says, resting the Land on his shoulder. “It will be difficult, that’s for certain.” 

“I don’t really love the idea of fighting people I know,” Mercedes’ voice trembles, and Annette reaches for her hand.

“Just kill them from behind,” Felix’s voice is sharp and decisive. “As long as you don’t see their faces, you won’t know if you know them.” It’s a callous thing to say, but Felix’s voice is steady when he says it. Sylvain thinks he might even mean it.

Dimitri sounds off, when he responds. There’s a dazed look in his eyes and a slowness to his voice that speaks of something hidden deep within him resurfacing. Felix would know all about it, probably.

Byleth disappears, and reemerges moments later with pale teal hair and light eyes. She looks radiant, like a true idol of the goddess. He can imagine all of them paying tribute at her feet.

He wishes the thought of it didn’t unsettle him so much.

-

Felix is older than Glenn will ever be. The thought causes Sylvain to go from sleep to wakefulness instantly, as though someone has just dumped a bucket of ice water on him. Glenn’s birthday earlier this month had been hard, especially for Ingrid and Dimitri. Sylvain knows that Felix has some private tradition he does on Glenn’s birthday, but he’s never been privy to it. 

Every year it’s been the same. Ingrid laments the loss of life and refuses to be alone, following him around and mother-henning even more than usual. Dimitri is quieter, drawing in on himself a little more with each passing year. Something has changed in him irrevocably since Glenn’s death, and every year Sylvain wishes he’d found a way to do something about it the year before. The first year after his death, Felix locked himself in his room and refused to come out, but every year since he has glossed over February 3rd a little more. Sylvain’s still trying to sort out if this is Felix trying to do what he thinks his brother would have wanted, or if he’s just refusing to let himself feel anything at all.

This is going to be different though. Felix is eighteen, and he has officially outlived his brother in every way that matters. There will be no more milestones that Glenn experienced first, other than dying for his country. Sylvain wonders if that will be a comfort to Felix: at the end, he’ll be able to follow in his brother’s footsteps one last time.

There’s no good way to go up to Felix and say that he’s sorry, or that he knows he must be thinking about Glenn, or any of the things he’s actually thinking. He’ll mangle the words and Felix will brush off the concern and they’ll fight, adding something else for Ingrid to worry about and one more reason for Felix to have a miserable birthday.

He sighs and rolls out of bed, getting dressed as quickly as possible and then spending longer on his hair than he meant to, negating any possible time he could have shaved off of his morning routine. In his defense, it takes a fair bit of work to get his hair artfully fucked up in the way he likes it.

Sylvain hovers outside Felix’s door, bringing his hand up to knock before lowering it twice, before rolling his shoulders back and grinning as wide as he can. “Felix!” He calls, finally knocking on the door, “How’s my favorite birthday boy?”

There’s no answer from within, but Sylvain is sure that he’s managed to rise before Felix. Felix tends to train until he can’t see straight most nights, then collapse in bed and drag himself out of his room with just barely enough time to grab something to eat before class.

If Sylvain was a better friend he’d probably try to do something about that.

After several minutes, it becomes apparent that Felix isn’t going to come out and greet him , so Sylvain sighs and pushes open the door. As the door swings closed behind him, Sylvain strolls in, fully expecting Felix to be at the very least partially awake. Instead, Felix is curled up in his blankets, his face smooth and his hair a rat’s nest on his pillow.

Oh.

Sylvain swallows, torn between waking Felix up or heading back out of the room and knocking with renewed vigor. Felix makes the decision for him. He opens his eyes, sees Sylvain, and all the soft lines of his face immediately sharpen, so quickly that it’s almost comical.

“Sylvain,” he says, measured and eerily calm. That’s a bad sign - it’s always the worst when they’re calm. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Sylvain says, taking a step backwards, hand reaching behind him for the doorknob.

Felix sits up. Sylvain wonders where the closest sword in the room is. “Did I sleep through class?”

“No,” Sylvain repeats. He finds the doorknob. . He’s going to make it.

“Then what,” Felix says, pushing the covers off of his bed and standing up, “the fuck are you doing in my room?”

Sylvain could already be halfway down the hall if he was really trying, but he’s surely gone through worse. He smiles at Felix, as obnoxious as he can manage, “Happy birthday.”

Felix narrows his eyes. “Get out.”

“Oh come on,” Sylvain says, tossing his head back and relaxing his grip on the doorknob. A fatal mistake, truly, “I just wanted to get breakfast with the birthday boy.”

“You have five seconds,” Felix says, eyes narrowed. 

Sylvain grins. “And then what?”

Felix makes a truly horrifying noise in the back of his throat, one that speaks of violence louder than anything Felix could possibly say to him. Maybe Sylvain shouldn’t have pushed Felix today, but it’s not like he’s ever been one for thinking things through. Sylvain pulls open the door and rushes through, slamming it a little too loudly behind him before Felix can eviscerate him. “Breakfast in ten!” He yells through the door. Felix doesn’t deign to reply, but Sylvain knows he’ll be there. For all Felix’s sharpness, he’s pretty predictable.

Breakfast passes without incident. Felix is too quiet and Sylvain fills the silence with dumb comments in the hopes it’ll keep both of them out of their head. The dining hall has one of Felix’s favorite dishes. Ingrid brings him a new sword sheath as a gift, carefully engraved with scenes of domestic life. It’s a gift for a soldier, not a student. It’s a gift meant to be looked at during long battles to remind you what you’re fighting for.

Felix loves it.

He doesn’t say so, but his eyes widen slightly when he runs his hand over the detailwork, and a small smile curls at the corner of his mouth when he slides his sword into it and fastens it onto his belt. He doesn’t thank Ingrid, but he looks up at her with bright eyes, and that’s more than thanks enough. She smiles at him and sits down on his other side, knocking their shoulders together before digging into her meal with vigor.

After Ingrid’s present, Felix seems a little lighter, as though it’s drawn him out of his reverie slightly. Maybe he’s just finally waking up, and Sylvain has built the fact that he’s a year older than Glenn was when he died up for no reason at all. Maybe none of the others live their lives like this, measured against the dead and counting down the days until they join them.

Nah, that’s not true. He’s met Dimitri.

“I was wondering,” Sylvain says, “Do you want to spar after class?”

Felix’s gaze goes sharp and pointed. “You never want to spar. What are you after?”

Sylvain holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Nothing! It’s your birthday; I was trying to be nice.”

Felix touches a hand to his new sword sheath and nods. “I suppose. I expect you to give it your all.”

Sylvain knocks their shoulders together, grinning, “Of course.” He should talk to Felix about Glenn, but Felix is in such a good mood. Talking about Glenn can wait.

-

The only revelations they receive in the Holy Tomb are from Edelgard.

He should have known. He should have been smarter or more cunning or examined her words more closely. There must have been some clue he missed, something he could have done to keep them all safe and happy for just a little bit longer.

Edelgard is the Flame Emperor, and everything is different now. Sylvain’s mouth tastes bitter, but that’s nothing compared to the spray of blood as Dimitri slaughters soldiers with his bare hands. He lets out a horrible, haunting sort of laugh and rushes forward.

Hubert warps himself and Edelgard away, and the thing that sticks in Sylvain’s head, even more than Dimitri’s sickening laughter or Felix’s white knuckle grip on his sword is Edelgard’s face, looking out at them all from the Flame Emperor’s armor and looking young for the first time since he’s known her.

-

“Sylvain?” Felix’s knock on his door is unexpected. It’s somewhere around 3am, and Sylvain’s been up for hours. Sleep is impossible, what with Dimitri smashing furniture against the walls. 

Dimitri roars something about ripping Edelgard’s head off. Sylvain opens the door. “I take it you can hear him too?”

Felix looks terrible. His eyes are red, and there’s an unsteadiness to his posture that Sylvain doesn’t know how to fix. “Yes.”

Sylvain pulls Felix into his room. “It’s not going to be any better in here. I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Felix says, his gaze skating away from Sylvain.

Dimitri throws something else against the wall. His desk, maybe, or his head. Sylvain closes his eyes. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m tired of listening to him.”

Felix swallows. “Okay.”

The monastery is deceptively peaceful. It feels like there should be some cataclysmic shift and that everything should be irreparably changed, but it’s not. It looks just as it always has. It’s the same as when Glenn and King Lambert died. Back then, Sylvain kept expecting the world to look different, for there to be some evidence of how much everything had just been ruined, but there was no such thing.

Sylvain thinks about the set of Edelgard’s jaw when they’d talked, the firm and unyielding emotion behind her voice. He’d always known she was playing a different game, he just hadn’t expected it to be this different. She’s been preparing for this for so long that they may as well already be losing. “Are you ready for this?”

Felix snorts. “Why would that matter?”

Sylvain’s mouth twists. Felix is right; they’re going to war, whether they want to or not. “I suppose we’ll be heading home to Faerghus.”

Felix shivers. “I suppose so.”

Faerghus is going to be miserable this time of year. One of the things Sylvain had been looking forward to was spending the winter away from somewhere brutally cold. He pulls his uniform jacket off - it’s not like there’s a need for their uniforms anymore - and offers it to Felix.

Felix shakes his head, even though he must be freezing. Sylvain hadn’t ever expected to get any sleep tonight, but Felix is dressed for bed, wearing only his thin pajamas. Sylvain rolls his eyes and drapes his jacket over Felix’s shoulders, ignoring the sudden warmth in his face.

“I’m fine,” Felix snaps, even as he’s reaching up with one hand to hold the jacket together at the top, almost like a cloak.

Sylvain smiles. Despite everything, Felix is still Felix. “I’m too hot,” he says. There’s a million pick-up lines on the tip of his tongue, but he thinks that would push even Felix over the edge right now. He might not be a good person by any means, but he isn’t quite that reprehensible.

Felix scoffs, but he keeps the jacket on, so Sylvain counts it as a win.

They continue around the monastery, Sylvain willing himself to memorize the way it looks. He had so many happy days here. If only he’d made better use of them.

Sylvain takes Felix’s hand. It feels like the thing to do, in this new world that they’ve found themselves in. Dimitri is going to break everything in his room before the night is over, and there’s not a damn thing any of them can do about it. Nothing is going to be the same ever again.

This is the kind of day they start stories with.

Felix squeezes his hand, and neither of them talk about it. They walk around the monastery like that, Felix’s hand grasped in his like when they were small. It’s a relic of another time, when they were all friends and Felix used to smile freer. 

“You were right,” Sylvain says at last. “I can see why you called him a boar.”

Felix holds his hand a little tighter. They’re still not talking about it. “You knew,” Felix says. “I know you did.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain agrees. “I did.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Felix snaps. “We could have made the others see, we could have kept him _safe_ , we could-”

“No,” Sylvain says, easy as breathing. “We couldn’t have.”

Felix yanks his hand away and steps to the side, his lip curled. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” His hand goes to his hip for a sword that isn’t there, and he swears under his breath. “Are you that preoccupied with yourself? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sylvain steps closer to Felix. “What could we have done? Dimitri was swearing up and down that he was fine, and no one but you saw it. What did you think would happen?”

Felix is shaking. Huh, that’s a new one. Sylvain doesn’t think he’s ever made someone so mad that they shook before. Something new to take pride in. “I don’t fucking know. Maybe we could have stopped some of this.”

Sylvain takes another step closer. “You think it would have stopped Edelgard from starting a war?”

Felix gnaws at the inside of his cheek, his jaw working. “No.”

“Do you think it would have kept Dimitri from losing it when he saw that she was the Flame Emperor?” Sylvain is close enough now that he can see the curl of Felix’s eyelashes. They’re longer than any girl’s he’s ever seen.

Felix closes his eyes. “No.”

It's dark except for the dim light from the moon, so there’s no risk of anyone seeing Sylvain tilt Felix’s chin up with two fingers. Felix’s eyes stay closed, even when Sylvain steps closer and hooks an arm around his waist.

“Sylvain-”

“Do you want me to stop?” Sylvain asks.

Felix doesn’t answer, and they stand there like that in the shadow of the cathedral. “No,” Felix says at last. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s all Sylvain needs to hear. He bends down and presses his lips to Felix’s. His hand falls from its spot under Felix’s chin, wrapping both of his arms around Felix and hauling him as close as he can. Felix loops his arms around Sylvain’s neck, Sylvain’s jacket falling to the ground, forgotten in the wake of their kiss. It’s desperate and hurried, and one of the worst ideas Sylvain’s had in a while. This is a bad idea, he tell himself when he pulls away for air and Felix’s face stays tipped up towards him.

This is a bad idea. Felix’s eyes are partially closed, and he’s beautiful. He’s the most beautiful person Sylvain has ever seen. He touches one of his hands to Felix’s cheek, and leans down, pressing their lips together again. Felix sighs into his mouth, and so Sylvain gives into yet another bad idea and kisses him again, and again, and again.

-

“Sylvain?” Felix’s voice is small and uncertain. Every time he speaks, Sylvain has to resist the urge to grab Felix and pull him into a hug. He’s never met anyone who needed a hug more than Felix.

Sylvain wiggles a little closer to Felix, tightening his grip on his hand. He can’t feel Felix’s hand through their mittens, but he wants Felix to know that he’s still holding his hand. They’re supposed to be having a snowball fight with Dimitri, Ingrid, and Glenn, but Felix got hit in the head and couldn’t stop crying, so they’re taking a break.

“Are you okay?”

Felix sniffs, and rubs at his face with the hand not holding Sylvain’s. “Yeah.” He sniffs again, and looks up at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you always have to take care of me.”

Sylvain laughs and ruffles Felix’s hair the way that he’s seen Glenn do. “I don’t want to play with everyone else, anyways.”

Felix makes a shaky little noise, not crying anymore but still on the edge of tears, “I wish you didn’t have to go home.”

Sylvain wishes he didn’t have to go home either. He’d like to stay in Fraldarius forever, far away from Miklan and his parents and the long empty halls of the estate. “I’ll be back soon,” he says. 

Felix sniffs and rubs at his face. “Do you promise?”

Sylvain frowns. “'Course I do.” He sits up and dusts the snow off of his lap. “C’mon, let’s both promise.”

Felix looks up at him with wide, confused eyes, “What sort of promise?”

“That we’ll always be together.” Sylvain puffs out his chest the way that he’s seen Glenn do in front of King Lambert.

“That’s silly,” Felix says. He frowns, and Sylvain wants to poke him in the tummy until he laughs again. Felix is always so sad, and it’s not fair. If it were up to Sylvain, Felix would be happy all the time, and they’d always be together. “You have to go home sometime.”

Sylvain pulls Felix into his lap and presses his face into Felix’s hair. “That doesn’t matter. Even when I’m not here, I’m with you.”

Felix squirms, but at least he’s not crying anymore. “What does that mean?”

Felix’s hair smells like soap, and it makes Sylvain’s chest hurt. He doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t like the way it makes his throat feel tight. “It means that you won’t ever be alone. Even if I’m in Gautier and you’re here, you won’t be alone.”

“That’s not true.” Felix’s voice quavers. “Glenn said that everyone is gonna die someday.”

Sylvain presses his face further into Felix’s hair. “Then we’ll die together.” He takes both of Felix’s mittened hands in his and looks him in the eye. “I want to die when you die.” 

“Okay,” Felix says. “I promise.”

The ache in Sylvain’s chest gets worse when Felix says that, but the feeling is too big for him to understand.

“I promise too,” he says, letting go of Felix’s hands to pull him into a hug. “Together until we die.”

-

Edelgard attacks the monastery the next day. The professor falls in the battle, and nothing is the same ever again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters sent between the former Blue Lions during the years 1181 - 1185

A selection of letters between former Blue Lions students between the years of 1181 and 1185

2nd day of the Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1181

_Felix,_

_A messenger from Gautier arrived late last night. Looks like things at home are worse than I thought. I wish I didn’t have to leave without saying goodbye, but I don’t have much choice._

_I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry. I took advantage of you, it was a mistake._

_We don’t have to talk about it._

_-Sylvain_

Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1181

_Felix,_

_I trust you’ve heard the news. I didn’t want to believe it but… I don’t know. Rufus dead, Dimitri executed… it’s like a waking nightmare. I don’t know what to think. There’s no way Dimitri killed Rufus. No matter what you think of him, we both know that he’s not capable of something like that. Cornelia’s obviously lying, but I can’t figure out what parts of it aren’t true._

_Please, respond and tell me if you’re still alive at the very least. Dimitri is dead, and every day the Lance of Ruin takes a little more strength to lift. I need to know that you won’t break our promise._

_-Sylvain_

_Sylvain,_

_I haven’t had any news worth sharing. I’m surprised you're still live, what with the pitiful amount you trained while we were at the Officer’s Academy. What would you like me to say? There is always another battle, and my sword has cut down so many Imperial troops that I’ve lost count. My father is crushed over the news about the Boar, as if that thing hasn’t been dead for years. The Blaidydd line has ended. There is no point in mourning ghosts._

_I know any grief for that creature is useless, and yet my sword feels heavy._

_I digress. Such things are of no importance in times of battle. Rest assured, I have no intention of breaking our promise. There are few things we can control at the moment, but I can promise that I intend to live._

_-Felix_

_Felix,_

_I miss him too. I’ll stay true to our promise, I swear it. No matter what, I won’t die before you. If you make it through this war, then so do I._

_-Sylvain_

Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1181

_Sylvain,_

_I haven’t heard from Dedue. He promised he’d keep in touch, but he only responded to the first letter I sent. I know he went back to Fhirdiad with Dimitri; do you think he’s alright? Dimitri was everything to him. I don’t know what to do. Mercedes and Annette haven’t heard from him either, but I know you two are friends. Please, if you hear any news at all, tell me. I’d rather know for sure that he’s dead rather than this waiting. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to him and not knowing._

_Dimitri is gone, but maybe we can still save Dedue._

_Sincerely,_

_Ashe Ubert_

_Ashe,_

_I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard from him. I wrote him when this first started, but I’ve had my hands full dealing with the war effort in Gautier. I promise to let you know if I hear anything at all. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news._

_-Sylvain_

Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1181

_Ingrid,_

_It’s been a while, huh? I know the war effort in Galatea isn’t going great. I wish I could come and help, but my father has me on what feels like every patrol. I swear, I haven’t slept in days. Felix isn’t doing much better, I don’t think. I’ve barely talked to him. He isn’t the best at answering letters during normal times, I don’t know why I expected war to be any different._

_At least all his training paid off, huh?_

_I should tell you that him and I fought before I left for Gautier. That’s probably part of the reason he isn’t answering my letters. I can’t exactly ride over to Fraldarius and ask him to talk, but could you at least let him know that I’m still alive?_

_I can hear you scolding me from there. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I can hear your voice every time I make a stupid decision. Next time you’re lonely, just picture me about to ask the wrong girl out! Then it’ll be like we were never apart._

_Regardless, I hope you are well. If there is anything I can do from Gautier to assist you, please send word. We can’t afford to spare troops right now, but we should be able to send some money or supplies._

_-Sylvain_

_Sylvain,_

_The Galatea family would greatly appreciate any supplies you could forward us. Cornelia’s forces have made a direct assault on our lands, and we’re dangerously low on supplies for our troops. It’s all we can do to keep our citizens alive, much less remain fighting ourselves. My father has no intentions of turning his back on his Kingdom, but if things continue this way we won’t have much with which to fight back._

_As it stands, Galatea is at a chance of being wiped out entirely. I’m aware you can’t spare troops, but anything you could do to lend aid would be a boon._

_Sincerely,_

_Ingrid Brandl Galatea_

_Ingrid,_

_Sure thing, we can send some money and supplies. My father said we can’t spare any troops, but hopefully Charon will be able to lend some aid? We have plenty of rations though, so at least your men won’t go hungry. I’d come myself if I could, but my father’s forbidden it. I’ll send some naughty letters along with the supplies, that way if you get lonely you’ll have those to keep you company!_

_In all seriousness, I wish we could do more. Don’t hesitate to reach out again. We’re all going to survive this. Dimitri may be dead, but the rest of us will get through this. We have to._

_Yours,_

_Sylvain_

Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1181

_Sylvain,_

_I heard about the recent battle in Gautier territory. Although I can’t be there in person - things at home with Mother are much too tumultuous for me to justify leaving - I wanted to write you and see how you were doing. Please take some time to rest. For me, if nothing else!_

_With Love,_

_Mercie_

_Mercedes!_

_My darling, my sun, my moon. The war effort could be better, that’s true, but any affection from you is a cure. What do you want me to say? I’ll tell you anything!_

_In all seriousness, I’m glad you’re not here. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here. Things in Fraldarius are a mess, even more so than they are here. Lord Rodrigue is seen as a bigger threat than my father, I suppose. Most of the minor nobles are starting to fold under pressure from the Empire. Ingrid is all up in arms about it, but it makes sense. They’re scared, and with the news about Dimitri…_

_I’d get out of Fhirdiad if I were you, is all._

_Regardless, it’s good to hear from you. The cookies were a welcome change from our rations. I think all my men are about ready to propose to you. Stay safe, and let me know if you need anything. I’ll be your knight in shining armor any day!_

_Fondly,_

_Sylvain_

Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Year 1181

_Sylvain,_

_It’s just terrible, everything that’s happened! I’m trying to keep my head up, but I’m worried. I left Fhirdiad - I’m with Ashe, actually - with my father, and we’re taking shelter in Charon lands for the time being._

_My uncle pledged his allegiance to the Adrestian Empire not long after we got here, so it’s good we left when we did. I’m so sorry I don’t have any happier news! Felix says that things there aren’t going well in his territory either. I wish I had something positive I could tell you, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been thinking of you! Mercie said she’d talked to you some, but I’ve barely spoken to anyone other than her and Felix. Well, and Ashe, now. He’s really worried about Dedue. I think he’s probably dead, just like Dimitri. I hope we don’t all die like that, picked off alone without any confirmation either way. Anyways, this is me, telling you that I’m still alive! I hope you are too!_

_-Annette_

Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1182

_Sylvain,_

_Happy Birthday! I’m so sorry I couldn’t manage to find enough ingredients to make you some sweets. Things at home are tight, we don’t have much to spare. Regardless, I’m thinking of you! These aren’t the birthday memories any of us hoped for, but they’re the ones we have, and even though making the best of it during a war seems difficult, we must do exactly that. I wish we were all together, but such things are not meant to be. I trust the Goddess to guide us and bring us all back together again someday. Stay safe, and don’t take any unnecessary risks. We would all miss you terribly if you were to fall in battle._

_With love,_

_Mercie_

_Mercedes,_

_I forgot your birthday! I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I’d do something so careless to a girl as pretty as you. I’m a disgrace, truly. The war has broken something in me, if I can’t even treat you right. Thank you for the birthday wishes, I appreciate it. You are a bright spot in the midst of all this chaos! I dream of the day when I can see your smile in person again._

_Yours forever and always,_

_Sylvain_

Pegasus Moon, 1183

_Sylvain,_

_I have news! It might even be good news, if you can believe it! My father’s heard rumors of whole platoons of Imperial Soldiers, ripped apart so gruesomely that they’re saying it doesn’t look like anything human could have done it. And since no one ever saw Dimitri’s body, he thinks he might still be alive! He wrote the remaining loyal lords, but I wanted to write all of my old classmates as well. If Dimitri is out there, we’ll find him. He’s our true king, and our friend._

_My father intends to go looking for him. I’m not surprised, he’s never wanted to abandon Dimitri. I’ll keep you updated on any more rumors that come our way. I hope you’re staying safe. All I ask is that we can get out of this alive._

_Sincerely,_

_Annette Fantine Dominic_

_Felix,_

_I’m sure Annette wrote to you as well. Dimitri may still be alive, huh? If Gilbert is off trying to track him down, hopefully we’ll hear more soon. It’s odd that he hasn’t resurfaced though. If he is alive, I wonder why he hasn’t rejoined any of his troops. He must know that we need him._

_As much as I’d like Dimitri to be alive, I fear for the state that we’ll find him in. Still, Faerghus functions poorly as it is, and even worse without a king. Even if we were more unified in our fight against the empire, I doubt that we’d have an easy time settling on a temporary ruler. What do you think about all this? You know Dimitri better than any of us._

_-Sylvain_

Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1183

_Sylvain,_

_A trail of gruesome deaths certainly sounds like the Boar. Even if he is alive, I wonder what sort of beast he has become. Does he not know my father would welcome him with open arms? There is no wrong the boar could do that would diminish him in my father’s eyes._

_I doubt he even realizes that his people need him. I’ve told you before, he’s nothing but a beast craving blood. All he cares for is his revenge. I’m sure he thinks of my brother more than any of the living. It doesn’t matter. Let my old man and Gilbert devote their time to the dead. The only thing that matters to me is cutting down the next enemy in front of me. Battle is all that we can be certain of._

_-Felix_

Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1183

_Sylvain,_

_I know we’re at war. I probably shouldn’t be writing you at all, but Edie mentioned you the other day when we were chatting and I couldn’t help myself. She said at one point she thought you might even join us._

_Dimitri’s already dead. I don’t want any more of my friends to lose their lives fighting for a losing cause. Just… think about it, would you? Edie’s doing what needs to be done to create a better future. You could help. I understand wanting to protect your friends, but sometimes to protect people you have to make hard decisions._

_Edie seemed to think highly of you. She said at one point she even considered you a friend. We all used to be so close. It could be that way again. Please, just think it over._

_Best,_

_Dorothea Arnault_

_Dorothea,_

_Edelgard’s dream is just that - a dream. I can’t help you. Grow up. We’re at war now, and no matter how nice it would be to sit down and talk about the way we wish things could be, that’s not going to happen. I don’t want to kill you, but I’ll do anything to keep the people I care about. safe We’re both protecting people. I’m sure you understand._

_-Sylvain_

Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1183

_Sylvain,_

_Of course I understand. I know you must think it’s naive of me to think that things could be different. Edelgard’s vision is something I believe in with my whole heart. A better Fodlan, one that values people based on their merit and not their blood… that isn’t something you want as well? A system that relies on people, not crests. I know you don’t want to betray those you love, but you don’t think that striving to create a better world is the best thing you can do for them?_

_I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to write you to convince you to join us. I’m simply asking, as your friend, for you to consider another point of view. Ingrid is too stubborn to even respond to my letters, but I thought you might see reason. I suppose you’ll think that’s naive of me too._

_-Dorothea_

_Dorothea,_

_I ask that you stop writing me. We’re at war. Act like it._

_-Sylvain_

Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Year 1183

_Sylvain,_

_Every day my father gets more desperate for news of the Boar. What a pathetic old man, that he can’t even keep his attention focused on what he has left. My company no longer answers to him, at least, so I can do what I know is necessary without his simpering. For someone so afraid to lose troops, you’d think he would be more decisive in his movements. He’s a failure of a Duke._

_At the very least, my sword remains sharp and my feet swift. As dire as it sounds, this is the simplest life has ever been. I wake up and battle until dusk, then go over plans with the others for the next day. There’s a monotony in battle that’s somehow comforting. I hope you’re operating with some modicum of discipline. If you fail to keep your lance sharp, you’ll be dead before you know it. I’m sure you’ve fussed over that foolish horse enough to last a lifetime. An ounce of that dedication turned towards your blade would server you well. I’d rather not have to clean up your messes if you fall in battle._

_-Felix_

_Felix,_

_Good to hear from you! I was starting to wonder if maybe you’d forgotten about me. If you had a girlfriend, she’d be pretty mad that you never respond to letters. Or would you be different with a girlfriend?_

_The Margrave seems to have a handle on things here. You know he’s never told me very much. I’m a weapon to be deployed, I don’t need to know that much. I’ve been taking good care of the Lance, stop fretting. Have you seen that thing? It’s horribly designed, all sorts of guts and stuff get caught in it. If I didn’t take care of it I doubt it’d stay very usable for long. What sort of noble would I be if I let that happen?_

_What other news is there? I doubt you want to hear about any of my conquests. You’d think the Imperial troops would let up in the winter, but I guess not. Edelgard must be pushing them hard. Or maybe they just believe in her that much, who knows. I almost thought we could be friends once. It’s funny, how naive we all were. I’m sure she never bore such illusions._

_Speaking of, have you heard from any of our former classmates? I barely know a thing going on with the Alliance. I know you had some friends there, care to enlighten me?_

_-Sylvain_

Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1184

_Dorothea,_

_It’s been awhile, I know. I found your letters the other day and put some things together. Do me a favor and pass this on to Edelgard, would you? You can read it if you like, I’m sure her retainer will go over every inch before he even lets her know of its existence._

_Lady Edelgard,_

_I doubt you’ll receive this letter at all. I’ll be surprised if I even send it, and I’ll be even more shocked if it arrives in your hands at all. I’m sure your lapdog read it to make sure I’m not poisoning you, but we both know that’s not my style. If I were to try to assassinate you, it’d be flashier than that._

_I’m wasting your time, I know. If I’m not going to assassinate you, then what’s the point of this letter at all, right?_

_Here’s the thing. It’s been a long few years, and I’ve been thinking. And what I’ve come to realize, is that there’s something I don’t know. Dimitri lost it after we learned that you were the Flame Emperor. I’m guessing you know the reason. I know he gave you that dagger when you were kids, but I know that’s not all there is to that story. Sure, there’s no reason to tell me, but then again, there was no reason to have Dorothea write me in the first place. I think you want to bring Dimitri around to your point of view, and I think that I’m the best way to do that. Furthermore, I think that he’s still alive, and that’s why you had Dorothea reach out to me. You were hoping that I’d slip up and tell her something. Tell me what you know about Dimitri, and I’ll think it over._

_-Sylvain Jose Gautier_

Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1184

_Mercedes,_

_How have you been holding up? There’s been no sightings of the Death Knight up here. I’ve been keeping an eye out, just in case. I’m sorry you have to concern yourself with him. Brothers are… complicated things. For you, me, and Felix it seems. I know you’re probably sick of thinking about him, but if you ever want to talk about the good times instead of the bad, well, you know where to find me._

_I’ve been thinking about my brother a lot lately. About what he’d say if he was in this war. I want to say that I think he would have fought for the Empire, but I don’t think he had ideals by the end. He would’ve used this chaos to hurt more people. Sometimes I think the Empire has a point. Kids like Miklan don’t deserve what they got. I shouldn’t have been given everything just because of my crest. Maybe if neither of us had had one, it would’ve been better._

_I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bare my soul to you. I just know I can tell you these sorts of things without you jumping down my throat about it like Felix or Ingrid. I hope you’re well, Mercedes, I really do. I hope we see each other again someday. Faerghus is already cold enough, and without your smile to warm me it’s downright frigid._

_Affectionately,_

_Sylvain_

Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1185

_Sylvain,_

_My father thinks of nothing but Glenn and the Boar, it seems. He tells me with my hair this long, I’m almost a picture of him as an older man. Doesn’t the damned fool know that I’m not my brother? I cut my hair with my sword after that conversation - the look on his faith was worth it. It looks terrible, but at least my father’s stopped comparing me to my brother. Maybe he’s finally gotten the message._

_If I fall in battle, I expect you to cut down anyone that says I died in a way to be proud of. Death is death, and there’s nothing about mine that I want glorified. I’ll die like myself, not like a true knight._

_-Felix_

Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Year 1185

_Sylvain,_

_I’ve been having nightmares again. Mietta nearly died in the last battle we were in - an enemy mage set fire to her wings, and we fell like a rock. I thought we were both dead, but she somehow managed to salvage the landing._

_Is it odd, that I wasn’t afraid? It cannot be the worst fate to die as Glenn did. I still dream of him sometimes, charred beyond recognition and asking me to join him. I think knighthood may be the death of us all. Mietta is recovering, as am I. We will both be healed before the week is out, and on the front lines once more. My brothers wish I would stay in bed longer, but I fear for the state of our troops without me there. Knowing that there’s a relic on our side does wonders for morale._

_I hate to ask, but are there any troops you could spare? I don’t know if I’ll be able to bounce back so quickly from the next battle._

_Sincerely,_

_Ingrid Brandl Galatea_

_Ingrid,_

_Things here are precarious, but not so bad as it is there. We can’t spare much, it’s true, but I’ve gotten permission from my father for myself and a small number of my men to join you. We’ll be there as soon as possible. You should ask Felix to come as well, I’m sure he will._

_As for your dreams, I’m sure they’ll pass. We all have nightmares sometimes. I still dream of Miklan from time to time, but I know he’s dead and gone. Our ghosts can’t reach us. I’d rather you live like Glenn and protect those you love than die like him._

_There is one other thing. Our class reunion is supposed to be in a month. I wouldn’t consider going, but… if Dimitri is alive, somehow, he may head there. There has to be a reason that he hasn’t returned to his people. If he’s truly operating on instinct alone, fulfilling a promise to someone he loved may be just the sort of thing he would do. We should talk about it in person, at least. If we think there’s even a chance that he’ll be there, we should go. Finding the king would do more for morale than countless relics on our side._

_Yours,_

_Sylvain_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid, Felix, and Sylvain arrive back at the monastery, but not everyone does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey we finally did it! we finally reached the canon divergence! thank god! we'll get more Into It next chapter, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> also if you wanna talk about my horse lore i care about that more than anything going on in this fic. message me about that whenever

They’ve almost reached the monastery when it occurs to Sylvain that they could be wrong. There could be nothing there but ghosts.

He shudders as a chill overtakes him, hunching his shoulders. They’ve been travelling all day, and the evening is fast approaching. Another night on the road doesn’t sound ideal, but at least they’re finally getting close to the monastery. They’ll be able to reach it tomorrow by mid morning, and then they’ll know if this was worth it.

“Let’s stop soon,” he says to Felix, riding next to him astride a borrowed mount from Ingrid’s family.

He nods, and looks upwards to where Ingrid is flying above them. Hopefully she’s found a good place to rest. As if she somehow heard them, Ingrid swoops down, landing a few feet ahead. Mietta looks tired, her flanks heaving from exhaustion. Ingrid slides off her back and loosens her girth, then runs a hand down the pegasus’ neck. “There’s a spot not far ahead,” she says.

Sylvain nods and they walk the rest of the way in silence. They’re technically in the Leicester Alliance, but it already feels like they’re back at Garreg Mach. There’s something familiar about the landscape and the slope of the ground under their feet. Even the trees seem like they’re welcoming them all home. Sylvain’s legs ache and he’d like nothing more than to collapse into a soft bed, but at the same time he feels more at ease than he has in weeks. The war still looms over them all, of course, as does the possibility of arriving at the monastery to an empty ruin, but all of that feels just a slight more distant to Sylvain out here, under the stars and far away from the fighting.

They’re mostly silent as they prepare the camp and eat dinner, and Ingrid sighs, looking into their small campfire with a wistful expression. “I can take the first watch.”

“I can take second,” Sylvain says, stretching his arms above his head.

Normally the three of them fight over the worst spot for watch, all vying to show their friendship in the most indirect way possible. It’s a testament to how tired Felix is that he merely nods his assent and finishes his meal.

Sylvain stands and walks over to where they have the horses tied up, looking over them to make sure that they’ll be safe through the night. Lady pins her ears back when he approaches, but he clucks at her softly and she drops her head back down to continue grazing. Felix’s mount lifts his head and pushes his face against Sylvain’s chest. Sylvain smiles and scratches at the top of his poll. He’s a sweet horse, it’s a shame that he’s ended up stuck with Felix, who thinks horses exist to carry him from place to place and for no other reason.

Mietta looks at him with wide, rolling eyes, but she looks livelier than she had earlier and so he leaves her be. Satisfied, Sylvain heads back towards the fire. Felix and Ingrid are talking quietly, shoulders almost touching, and so he leaves them be. 

The tent that the three of them have been sharing is tiny, and it’s impossible to sleep without touching the other person in it. Before the war, it probably would have been something of a novelty, but they’ve all spent enough time on the road now that sleep in any form seems a blessing.

Felix enters the tent behind him just as Sylvain’s finished getting ready for bed. There are deep lines under his eyes. Before he can stop it, Sylvain finds himself wishing that he could reach out and hold Felix’s face in his hands and carry some of that fatigue for him. Instead, he turns away so that Felix can change.

They lay down, facing away from each other, but almost immediately Sylvain gets antsy and rolls over. It’s like when they were kids, staying at the castle in Fhirdiad, and would all cram into Dimitri’s bed for sleepovers. Felix sighs heavily, but rolls over to face him, and Sylvain feels both much too close and not close enough.

“Do you think he’ll be there?” Sylvain asks. The tent is dark, and it makes his words sound softer and more unsure. The faint scent of smoke still hangs in the air from the fire, and if he strains his ears he can just barely hear the sounds of their mounts moving around in the dark.

Felix frowns. “If he’s anywhere, it would be here.”

Sylvain nods against the ground. He can feel the grass underneath the fabric of the tent. “And if he’s not there-”

“Then he’s dead,” Felix says. He rolls over. “Stop bothering me and go to sleep.”

“Right, sorry,” Sylvain says, but sleep doesn’t come for a long time.

-

The first thing they hear when they reach the monastery is the roar of a battle cry. The hair on the back of Sylvain’s neck stands up, and Lady moves forward almost before he can ask. Next to him, Felix draws his sword, and Sylvain reaches over his shoulder to rest a hand on the Lance of Ruin. Ingrid is quiet, but Mietta lifts her head, nostrils flared, and whinnies, high and anxious. Felix’s little gelding steps to the side, and Sylvain is thankful that, for all of Lady’s failings as a horse, she’s at the very least brave to the point of stupidity. 

Their mounts’ hooves click on the stone as they enter the monastery, the sound echoing around them. Another battle cry sounds from above, as does the sound of a scream. “It’s him,” Felix says, his voice just a tad too breathless. His hand on his sword relaxes slightly, and Sylvain grabs the reins of Felix’s mount, who stops abruptly even as Felix is kicking him onwards. Felix shoots him a dirty look, and Sylvain shakes his head.

“Do you think he’s winning?” Ingrid asks. Mietta flares her wings out and takes to the air, and Sylvain sighs and lets go of Felix’s reins, urging Lady into a trot. 

They arrive to see Dimitri thrusting Areadbhar through a man’s chest and pouring it out with a grin splitting his face. He turns when he hears them, lifting Areadbhar as if he plans to throw it clear across the battlefield. His hair, once the shining blond of a bountiful harvest, is dull with ash and grime. His grin splits across his face, and an eyepatch covers his right eye. It’s the first time Sylvain’s seen his old friend in five years, and he looks nothing like the Dimitri he knew as a boy and everything like the Dimitri who laughed in the face of the Flame Emperor.

“Felix!” Annette shouts, and the sound of her voice is enough to snap all three of their attention away from the man who should be their king. Her, Ashe, Mercedes, and Gilbert are a sight for sore eyes, even if Annette can barely call a greeting to them before throwing a Sagittae spell at an encroaching bandit. Ashe levels an arrow into his arm, and he goes down with a cry.

Felix throws himself off of the gelding’s back and into battle. Ingrid and her pegasus follow, and Sylvain draws the Lance of Ruin and rolls his shoulders. “Alright,” he says to Lady, closing his leg on her and sending her forward. “To work.”

-

“It’s silly,” Annette says, after, “but I thought the Professor might be here.”

Felix grunts. The monastery is abandoned except for them, and as odd as it is to be back, it's even stranger to see a place that once used to be so full of life instead home to nothing but wild beasts and crumbling walls. The cathedral is partially caved in, the magnificent stained glass that Sylvain had spent so much time admiring now ruined. The six of them are on the terrace in front of the ruins of the cathedral, huddled around the campfire and eating their poor excuse for a dinner.

“I did too,” Mercedes says. “I always thought she would manage to come back to us.” She stretches her hands towards the fire, warming them. Sylvain wonders what the flames would feel like licking over his skin, then pushes the thought out of his head.

“There’s no coming back from death,” Felix says. He stands and leaves, heading into the building behind them.

“No,” Sylvain agrees, his eyes following Felix as he walks away. He can’t see past him into the cathedral, but Dimitri is somewhere in there. “I guess not.”

-

“Are you alright?” Felix stands at the entrance to the cathedral, arms crossed and watching Dimitri’s unmoving form as he stares at the rubble of the once great building.

“Did you see his face?” Felix reponds, his own face twisted in a scowl. Felix is pretty much always scowling at least a little, but it’s normally a somewhat passive expression on him. This time, his entire face is contorted.

Sylvain leans against the wall, studying one of his hands in a practiced casual move. “Yeah. I saw it.”

Felix nods, one sharp movement of his head, “I told you all he was a beast.”

Sylvain thinks back to the expression on Dimitri’s face, the way he’d laughed as he’d pulled his lance from his enemies. There was a sort of relish to the killing, betrayed by the monstrous smile on Dimitri’s face and the slow, painful separation of weapon and corpse. “Was it the same?”

Felix snorts, “The same as what?”

“As eight years ago,” Sylvain responds, turning his gaze away from his hands and towards the hunched form of Dimitri.

The moon shines down through the crumbling ceiling of the cathedral, providing just enough light for the shadows of the statues to stretch, twisted and monstrous, across the floor.

“No,” Felix answers at last. “This was worse.”

Sylvain swallows, “Felix-”

“No.” Felix’s voice is sharp and final, and the disdain in it slides between Sylvain’s ribs like a knife. “I don’t want your pity. Go bother the others with it.”

There isn’t much to say to that. Sylvain pushes himself off the wall, “Right. Have fun watching him talk to his ghosts.”

-

Sylvain doesn’t much feel like talking to the rest of his friends after that, so he heads instead towards the bridge connecting the cathedral to the rest of the monastery. He’s expecting - hoping - to be left alone, to get some goddamn peace and quiet to sort through whatever it is he’s feeling.

Instead, Ashe is there, sitting on the ground and crying into his hands. His shoulders shake, and even though it’s been five years and he’s filled out, he still looks like the sixteen year old from the first day of the academy.

Sylvain doesn’t want to fix this mess. He can’t even fix his own mess. He stops in front of Ashe and thinks about sitting down, but instead clears his throat. “I’m sorry about Dedue.”

Ashe sniffs and lifts his head, his eyes red and puffy. A tear runs down his cheek, and he wipes at it almost angrily.

When he smiles up at Sylvain, it’s small and sad. His face looks much too similar to how it had when he’d seen Lonato on the battlefield. 

“Me, too.” He pushes himself to his feet and wipes his eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Did you need something?” He’s still crying a little, but his dedication to ignoring it is admirable.

Sylvain pats him gingerly on the shoulder. He likes Ashe, but he never knows what to say to him. All the earnestness is exhausting. It makes Sylvain want to destroy something in a way that speaks to the worst parts of himself. “It’s alright,” Sylvain says. “Do you? Need something, that is.”

Ashe shakes his head and turns around, leaning on the wall to look out over the bridge. “He was my first kiss, you know.”

“No,” Sylvain says. “I didn’t know that.” He barely remembers his first kiss anymore. It was a long time ago. When he tries to remember, all he can picture is a girl with a fuzzy face and brown hair. He doesn’t even know how old he was.

Ashe nods. “I should have known. I thought - I hoped. I thought maybe he would have managed to get out of the city.” He laughs, the sound sardonic and bitter. It’s the kind of sound someone like Ashe should never make, and the kind of noise that Sylvain excels at. “It was dumb. I should have known better.”

Sylvain pats Ashe again on the shoulder. If he was a better friend, Sylvain would know what the right words were. He’s not, though, and he likely never will be, so he clears his throat again and wishes Ashe a good night. He leaves, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach as he does so.

-

They come back together in the evening, creeping back towards the fire like wild animals who’ve been hungry for something for too long. Sylvain can feel a hunger for something gnawing at his insides and threatening to consume him from within. There’s something reminiscent of it in the expressions on his friends’ faces, but he doesn’t know what they’re after any more than he does himself. He’d thought that finding Dimitri would give them something to hope for, would return his easy smile to him. It was a childish thought. The Professor and Dedue are dead. To call whatever is left of Dimitri alive seems like a series of mental acrobatics that even Sylvain is not comfortable subjecting himself to. There is no hope to be found here. But still, in the ruins of something that used to be so dear to them, there is something like it.

There’s the smell of the fire and the faintest nip of a chill in the air. The sound of crickets and other nighttime creatures and the soft, quiet noise of Ingrid’s laugh as Mercedes heals a cut on her arm and catches her up on the last five years. There’s Annette, filling the silence and humming under her breath as she reads through a book and leans on Felix’s shoulder. He’s tired enough that he’s hardly even pretending to be annoyed about it, instead resting his head on top of Annette’s and half-dozing. Ashe has performed a miracle that only Dedue would have been able to surpass and managed to make something edible out of their poor excuses for rations. A hot mean does more to comfort them all than anything else could have possibly done. 

Sylvain sits a ways apart from the rest of them, leaning against a wall and trying not to dwell on what tomorrow will bring. Across from him, Felix meets his eyes, and Sylvain smiles at him. Felix closes his eyes and turns his face a little more into Annette’s hair, but Sylvain doesn’t miss the answering smile on Felix’s lips, as if he can’t help himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid receives a piece of news that changes the very face of the war. Felix does something he regrets, and Sylvain bears the burden of the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i upped the chapter count again. im so sorry. im like. set on 14 though! i'm 80% sure that i can finish this fic with 14 chapters!
> 
> in exciting news, this is a series now! interested in what's going on with the Black Eagles? go click next work! chapters of that are (hopefully) going to be published simultaneously with this fic! this fic and that both are stand-alone works though, so feel free to just read this if edeleth isn't your thing/you want me to shut up about the black eagles already
> 
> as always, thanks for reading!

The Empire attacks Garreg Mach. It’s ruthless, and Dimitri strikes down the enemy commander with a relish that’s chilling to watch. Ingrid turns away from the sight, her head pressed into Felix’s shoulder. Mercedes watches, her expression unflinching as Dimitri brings Areadbhar down into his body over and over, long after he’s dead. There’s blood in her hair, but her face is smooth, serene even.

Her brother is the Death Knight, after all. Sylvain supposes she’s come to terms with some terrible things.

-

Days later, Ingrid asks him and Felix to meet her in her room. There’s a joke Sylvain really, really wants to make, but something about the set of Ingrid’s jaw keeps it at bay.

Sylvain and Felix settle on to her bed, and Ingrid paces back and forth in front of them. She sighs and pulls out a piece of paper, clutching it close to her chest.

“I didn’t do anything to provoke this,” she says. “And you’re the first ones I’ve told about this.” She sighs again, her eyes wide. There’s a wrinkle between her eyes that’s gonna do bad things for her skin years down the line. “Dorothea wrote me a letter.”

Sylvain wants to reach out and smooth her skin over with his thumb, but that wouldn’t really solve anything at all.

“She’s the enemy,” Felix says.

“I know.” The wrinkle between Ingrid’s brows deepens. “But she’s my friend.”

“She was your friend,” Felix says sharply, an edge to his voice. “Now she’s just another person to strike down.”

“You’re not even going to ask what she wrote me about?” Ingrid scowls. Her grip on the letter is so tight that Sylvain thinks she might rip it.

“I’ll ask,” Sylvain says. “What did she write you about?”

“She says she misses me,” Ingrid says, quietly. “That she wishes this weren’t happening.” “Pretty words,” Felix says. “They won’t stop her from killing you.”

Ingrid inhales and presses the letter from Dorothea a little closer to her chest. It's obvious that the contents have shaken her, and that there’s something more that she’s not telling them. “The professor’s alive.”

“What?” Sylvain’s voice cracks.

“She’s lying,” Felix snaps. “She’s trying to throw us off.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “There’s a note from the Professor. I don’t see how Dorothea could have copied her handwriting.”

Felix snatches the letter from Ingrid’s hands and reads through it, furious. His face is all wrong, in a way that Sylvain hasn’t seen for years and years. He hadn’t realized Felix loved her as much as the rest of them did. Right away, that train of thought makes him feel like a dick. Of course Felix loved the Professor. He should know that Felix cares deeply about all of them, more so than he lets on. Felix presses his lips together and shakes his head, then passes the letter to Sylvain.

Most of it is meaningless platitudes that he skims over. He doesn’t need to see any more love letters; he’s written enough for a lifetime. Halfway through though, the tone changes.

_I know that what I’m about to say is going to be difficult for you to hear, but I need to tell you. You all deserve to know. We all agree - even Edie. The professor is alive, Ingrid. Byleth is alive and she’s with us. She said she was asleep the last five years - can you believe it? I thought she was joking, but the longer she’s here the more I think that she really is telling the truth._

_She said she was planning on heading to the monastery to meet all of you, but Ferdinand was passing through the area and found her instead._

_I don’t know what’s going to happen now. Hubie’s not pleased, although I think he’s secretly glad she’s alive. Her and Edie have been taking a lot of meetings together._

Distantly, Sylvain realizes he’s tearing up. Ingrid makes a small noise and presses their shoulders together. He turns to the next page of the letter.

_To my dear students,_

_I am sure that Ingrid has passed this on to all of you. I write to let you know that I’m with the Empire, and that I’m alive. I know this is strange news, but I was dead for the last five years. I would never have left you otherwise. I apologize for missing our class reunion. I can only hope I will someday get a chance to fix that._

_Edelgard says that Dimitri escaped, which means he still lives. I’m glad. My loyalties will always lie with you, my students. I know what you’re wondering: if that’s the truth, why am I in the Empire?_

_I don’t know what to say. If I were to leave, it would be complicated, to say the least. Even worse, I worry that I do not wish to leave. As much as I hope to return to you, I also want to be here, to attempt to stay the Emperor’s hand. I wish I knew what the best way to protect all of you was._

_But I digress. I am not a prisoner by any means. The Emperor herself has assured me as such. Still, Hubert will surely read this letter - hello Hubert. I do hope you’re getting enough sleep. Ferdinand has been telling me that he thinks you overwork yourself. I know you adore coffee, but you simply cannot live-_

Sylvain laughs. “How long does the note to Hubert go on?” He’s still crying a little.

Felix rolls his eyes, “Too damn long. Skip to the next page.”

Sylvain flips the page over.

_-do let me know if there’s anything you need. I digress. I can only hope that you will all understand the situation I am in, and be able to forgive me for this transgression. I wish you all the best, and I hope to write again soon._

_Yours always,_

_Professor Byleth_

Sylvain carefully folds the letter and hands it back to Ingrid. She lifts her head off of his shoulder and wipes at her eyes, then presses the letter to her chest. “We have to tell the others.”

Sylvain nods. They’re all going to be overjoyed, even Dimitri, if they can figure out how to express this news to him.

Felix rests a hand on his sword, “I don’t know if we can kill the Professor.”

Sylvain wonders what exactly Felix means: facing off against the professor in battle, or looking at her without running to her side. “I hope we don’t have to,” Sylvain says. “She’s our Professor, not theirs. Do we really think she’d attack us?”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Felix is the only one of them that has ever genuinely considered fighting the professor. It’s a sobering thought. He doesn’t know if any of them stand a chance against her if she chooses to lend her strength to the Empire. Edelgard was already winning, and now she has an even deadlier piece in play.

“She said we were her students,” Ingrid says. “She signed it ‘yours always.’ She wouldn’t kill us.”

Sylvain can’t tell if she believes that. 

He sighs. “We need to tell the others. Then we need to talk about what the hell this means for us.”

Felix nods slowly. His hand is still on his sword, although what he’s hoping to accomplish Sylvain isn’t sure.

“We should take it to Gilbert.” Ingrid frowns, “Or Seteth.”

Sylvain sighs. “Seteth knows her better.”

Felix doesn’t say a word. 

“There was another note,” Ingrid says, handing Sylvain a small, sealed envelope with his name scrawled across it. He recognizes the penmanship for its heavy hand, as if it was all the writer could do to keep from ripping the paper. “I didn’t read it.” She watches him curiously, and Felix’s gaze jerks over to him.

Sylvain tears the envelope open unceremoniously. The note from Edelgard is far shorter than the one from the professor, and none of it is especially surprising. He skims through the note quickly, then nods to himself, folds it, and shoves it in his pocket to be answered later.

“Well?” Felix says, voice sharp.

“Just a note from Edelgard,” Sylvain says. The thin piece of paper is heavy in his pocket, weighing him down. He needs to figure out what to say to her. He doesn’t want to lie but… these situations are complicated. Stretching the truth might be better.

Ingrid and Felix exchange a look. “Sorry, _Edelgard_?” Ingrid asks. “Emperor of Adrestia, the leader of our opposition? Holding Lady Rhea captive? That Edelgard?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain replies. “What other Edelgard do we know?”

“Care to explain why she’s writing you secret notes?” Ingrid asks, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice.

Sylvain grins at her, “Would you believe me if I said it was because of my stunning charm and good looks?”

“No,” Felix says flatly. “What are you playing at?”

Sylvain sighs, “Well, I may as well tell you. Edelgard and I have… talked, some. Over the years. She asked me to join the Empire back when we were still in the Officer’s Academy.”

“You knew?” Ingrid snaps, her eyes narrowing.

“No!” Sylvain says, throwing his hands up in the air. “No, I had no idea she was going to start a war. I wouldn’t betray all of you like that.”

Ingrid relaxes a little. “Right. Of course you wouldn’t.”

Sylvain swallows the sting of hurt at Ingrid's accusation. “I wrote to her during the war,” he says. “She had Dorothea write to me a couple of times, and I told her that I would see if I could help convince the others of her plan if she told me everything.” He smiles, tight-lipped and flimsy. “That didn’t… really happen, but we kept in touch a little.”

“What did the note say?” Felix won’t meet his eyes.

They feel he’s betrayed them, and he hasn’t even done anything. Sylvain hands it to Felix and doesn’t let their hands brush.

_Sylvain,_

_I trust you understand the severity of this situation. You and I have always spoken plainly to each other in the past, and so I will extend that courtesy to you once more._

_You are losing the war. With the professor and Dimitri at his full strength, perhaps you could manage to turn the tides. However, that does not appear likely. I am not going to tell you there is no way you can win: that would be foolish. However, I do think you should evaluate your options with care._

_Years ago, you wrote me to say that you would help me if I shared with you the whole truth. I confess I am not able to do such a thing. Circumstances in Enbarr are more complicated than you know. I have no desire to kill Dimitri, or any of you. My only concern is with the Church of Seiros and the lies they have told all of Fodlan._

_Speak candidly in your response: do you think Dimitri can be swayed? Can he see the church for the monster that it is?_

_As I said, I have no wish to kill any of you, but that does not mean I would not do so in order to accomplish my goals._

_-Edelgard von Hresvelg_

“Well?” Sylvain asks, once it’s clear that they’ve both read it. He crosses his arms. “Do you still think I’m going to stab you in the back?”

“You wouldn’t,” Felix says. “Stab me in the back. If you were going to kill me, it’d be head on.”

Somehow, that comforts him. Sylvain nods. Felix is right. If he were to kill any of his friends, he’d make sure they could see it was him. He would do them that kindness, at least.

“Are you going to tell her anything?” Ingrid says. Her voice is sharp, guarded.

“If the war keeps going like this, we’re going to lose,” Sylvain replies.

Ingrid scowls, her face pinched. “How can you say that? How can you even consider helping her?”

Sylvain laughs. “What, do you think we should keep following our mad king?”

“Don’t call him that!” Ingrid snaps. “What’s wrong with you? Dimitri is our friend!”

For once, the fight isn’t Felix’s. 

“Sure,” Sylvain says. His blood is approaching boiling and he can see the words he’s about to say. They’re awful, and he doesn’t want to say it, but they tumble out of his mouth before he can help himself. “He’s our friend, even when he’s talking about using us until the flesh falls from our bones. He’s our friend, even though he spends more time talking to his ghosts.”

“Sylvain,” Felix says. His voice is low and threatening. Sylvain is furious with him suddenly, blindingly so and to a degree that he doesn’t understand. 

He whirls around, his lip curled, “What?”

Felix arches an eyebrow. “You’re shaking.”

Sylvain closes his eyes. Swallows. Counts backwards from eight. “I don’t want to watch Dimitri die,” he says. “I’m sorry for thinking about ways to prevent that.” He smiles at them both, ignoring the shuttered expression on Ingrid’s face. “We were going to go talk to Seteth, right?”

-

The professor is alive, and the fact of the matter is that she’s not with them. Nothing has changed, not really. It’s war. They have to strike down those in front of them. Seteth says as much, but the next day he says that he’s written back to Byleth and will let them all know what her response is.

Things continue on. Sylvain writes to Edelgard and tells her that he doesn’t think Dimitri can tell the difference between friend and foe very well right now. It feels like betrayal. He sees Ingrid’s face with every word he rights, but he still sends the letter. It’s the right thing to do, he tells himself. He’d rather his friends be alive than dead, even if they hate him.

Even so, his thoughts won’t leave him. It’s late by the time he finishes his letter, and he goes for a walk to clear his head. He could pick someone up, if he wanted, but his wandering feet take him to Mercedes’ door. Her and Annette have taken over Ignatz and Raphael’s old rooms, respectively, but when he knocks on the door it's Ashe that answers.

He smiles, wide and delighted. “Sylvain!”

“Sylvain?” Mercedes says. She’s sitting on the floor braiding flowers into Annette’s hair. Her own hair, now so short - it really is a tragedy, she was so lovely with long hair - has a flower crown delicately placed atop it. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh,” Sylvain says. “I can go. I just wanted to talk.”

“Come sit!” Annette cries, beaming.

Ashe hands him a pastry, and Sylvain sits down on the floor with the three of them. Ashe has a violet tucked behind his ear and is reading a book. There are pillows strewn around the floor and Annette has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. It’s a scene from another life, almost.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Mercedes picks a daisy up from her pile of flowers on the floor and weaves it into Annette’s hair with deft fingers.

“It’s not important,” Sylvain says. He remembers he’s holding a pastry and takes a bite. It’s good.

“Oh, was it private?” Ashe says. “We can leave if you need.”

“No!” Sylvain exclaims. “I don’t want to kick you out. I’m just a little caught up in my own thoughts.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Annette says. “No worries if you don’t! But it can be nice to talk about things with your friends. It helps me feel better.”

Ashe nods sagely and puts a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. Mercedes smiles at him, still carefully braiding Annette’s hair.

Goddess, they’re going to be the death of him.

“Ingrid’s angry with me,” he says.

Mercedes makes a sympathetic noise. “Is this about the letter from Edelgard?”

He sighs. “She told you?”

“Of course,” Mercedes says. “She was quite upset.”

“Did you write her back?” Ashe asks.

Sylvain hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, I did. I mean… what’s the worst it could do? Best case, it ends up helping us.”

“I guess so,” Annette says. “But try to look at it from Ingrid’s perspective. She feels like you’re going behind our backs.”

“Am I?”

Mercedes hums. “I don’t think so, no. I think you’re trying to take care of us.” She finishes up Annette’s braid and stands, dusting off her skirts. “But I think Ingrid has been resisting the thought of being taken care of since she was a girl.”

Sylvain bows his head and studies his hands. “I - yeah, she has.” Even as kids, Ingrid always had to be the knight.

Mercedes kneels in front of him and presses one of his hands in between her own. “Just apologize,” she says. “Tell her that you love her, and that you want all of us to survive this war.”

Annette and Ashe both look at him with pinched, worried faces. He really ruined their night, didn’t he? “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were all hanging out.”

“We do this all the time!” Annette says. “Mercie and I moved rooms so we could be next to Ashe and he wouldn’t have to be all alone over here.”

“You’re welcome to come by more,” Ashe says. “It’d be fun!”

Mercedes smiles and pats his cheek lightly. “Let me do your hair, won’t you?” She croons. “You’ll look so pretty.”

“Ashe was reading to us,” Annette says, throwing herself down onto one of the pillows on the floor and crushing her newly perfect braids.

Ashe picks up his book and smiles tentatively, then goes back to reading about far away knights and clever princesses. Mercedes’ fingers are gentle as they comb through his hair, and Annette interjects into the stories and makes Ashe laugh until he can barely read. The four of them all fall asleep like that, and Sylvain wakes up with terrible back pain, but a lighter heart.

-

In Imperial Year 1174, Glenn is made a knight, and becomes absolutely insufferable as a result. Felix’s jealousy at age eleven is not a well defined thing, but Sylvain is fourteen and knows his for what it is. Glenn is a golden child, a perfect beacon of what a son of Faerghus should be.

Try as he might, Sylvain can’t figure out how to hate him.

Miklan hates Glenn, of course, but Miklan hates everyone. Sylvain wishes he could hate Glenn, wishes he could figure out how to have at least this one thing in common with his brother, but Glenn is sharp-tongued and brash and also unbearably patient.

Even after he’s made a knight, he slinks off in his free time to play with the four of them, to entertain Felix and Dimitri and to make Ingrid laugh like no one else can.

But still, there are days and days where Glenn is too busy to play with them, and even worse are the days where Glenn is in Fhirdiad with Dimitri and the rest of them are left alone. This time, Felix had gotten permission to go with him, and so Ingrid had come to Gautier to spare them both the heartache of being left behind. It’s not the same as when they’re all together, but it’s better than nothing.

“I’m going to marry Glenn,” Ingrid says. Her voice is strong and clear when she says it from her perch on top of Sylvain’s bed.

Sylvain, on the floor with his head buried in a book, grunts. Ingrid talks so much; sometimes he can’t be bothered to pay attention.

“Hey!” Ingrid says, kicking him lightly with one of her feet.

He flinches away, even though she barely touched him, and she grimaces. “Sorry.”

Sylvain stretches and grins at her. “For what? Anyways, I know you’re gonna marry Glenn. You’re engaged.”

Ingrid is their only friend that’s engaged. Her and Glenn have been promised to each other for so long that it’s no longer a novelty, although sometimes Ingrid remembers and is obnoxious about it for days.

“Are you going to come to my wedding?”

“Of course.” Sylvain shuts his book with a snap. “I’m gonna have to. It’ll be important.”

Ingrid nods. “Glenn and I can be knights together,” she says, tracing a pattern on the blankets with her forefinger. “I can be a knight if I’m married, can’t I?”

“Sure,” Sylvain says. He hates talking about marriage. He’s thirteen years old and he’s never managed to be all that jealous of Glenn, but he’s jealous of Ingrid’s luck. He’s going to be married off to someone he doesn’t even know, and Ingrid gets to marry her best friend. It’s not fair. None of the rest of them can. If he were a girl, he could be engaged to Felix or Dimitri. Their crests are certainly good enough.

“When do you think it will happen?” Ingrid looks almost sad, thinking about the concept of there being a definite date for her wedding. She’s still a kid; Sylvain wouldn’t be surprised if she just wants to stay engaged forever. He doesn’t think her or Glenn really understand what’s expected of them.

He shrugs, “You don’t even have a ring yet. Besides, neither of you are old enough to inherit anything. Probably once you’re eighteen, I guess.”

Ingrid frowns and counts on her fingers. She has her hair separated out into two little braids, and Sylvain wants to pull on one very badly. She’d get all upset, but it’d be funny enough to make up for it. “So in seven years.”

“Probably, yeah.” Sylvain stands, cracking his neck as he does so. “Let’s go do something fun. I don’t care about getting married.”

Ingrid jumps off his bed and he gives into temptation and pulls on one of her ponytails. She squeals and slaps at his hand, and he laughs, all thoughts of marriage gone from both of their heads.

-

Days pass. They don’t receive another letter from Byleth. Sylvain apologizes to Ingrid and she tells him that she’s written Dorothea once a month for the last five years. They lay in her bed for hours and talk about what they wish the world could be like and it’s almost enough to make them both happy.

The Guardian Moon bleeds into the Pegasus Moon, and the third day of the month creeps up on them even faster than normal.

When Sylvain finally finds Felix on what would have been Glenn’s 27th birthday, he’s in the cemetery, sitting in front of Jeralt’s grave with his knees pulled to his chest. Sylvain walks up behind him, his shadow falling over the gravestone. Felix doesn’t move.

“Hey,” Sylvain says.

“You always do this,” Felix says. “Has it not occurred to you that I would prefer to be alone?”

“Would you?” Sylvain asks.

Felix doesn’t answer. Sylvain sits down next to him.

“I’ll go if that’s what you want,” Sylvain says. “That’s what Ingrid wants.”

“No it’s not,” Felix says. “You know that.”

Sylvain sighs. “Yeah, I do.” He’s going to go check on Ingrid again after this. She’ll tell him to leave her alone, but if he drags her out to the stables she’ll be happier.

Felix’s hands flex where they’re laced around his knees. He looks small and fragile, like he had when Glenn died. There’s something about his face that makes Sylvain want to protect him. He wishes he knew what from.

“I can’t believe she’s alive,” Sylvain says instead, looking at the grave where Byleth’s parents lie.

Felix doesn’t reply.

“I mean, I didn’t want to believe she was dead, but five years is a long time,” Sylvain continues. “And now she’s with the empire…do you really think she’d raise a sword against us?”

“Yes,” Felix says. His voice is shards of broken glass, lodging themselves in Sylvain’s chest and ripping whatever is left of his heart to pieces. “I think she will do whatever is necessary.”

Whatever is necessary. How do they know what that is? Edelgard, the Professor, even Dimitri: they all have a goal, something lofty that they will do anything to achieve. All Sylvain wants is a warm body next to his and a head empty of all thoughts.

Edelgard had certainly seemed to think that the professor would join her.

“Yeah,” Sylvain says. He fixes his gaze on the headstone, his eyes tracing the names there. Jeralt. Sitri. He hadn’t known Jeralt well, and he’s never heard Byleth talk about her mother. What would they say about all of this? Would they care what Byleth did?

“I could kill her,” Felix says. His hand curls into the fabric of his pants. “If we had to.”

If Sylvain closes his eyes, he can see Felix doing just that. He’s watched Felix kill plenty of times; surely this would be no different. He thinks they all have the potential to kill anything wrapped up inside them. If they don’t, then what’s the point of Faerghus? What’s the point of their toy swords and play wars if it hasn’t at least given them the ability to kill without remorse?

“Yeah,” Sylvain says again. He pulls a clump of grass up and shreds it methodically in his hands. “I think I could too.”

“Do you-” Felix starts to speak and then stops. His face twists. “Do you think he would be proud?”

Sylvain has never claimed to know Glenn as well as any of the others. He does, however, know that no love he’s ever seen has been like that which Glenn felt for Felix. There’s no world where Glenn isn’t proud of him. He smiles. “Yeah. I think he would be.”

Felix kisses him.

Sylvain is taken so off guard that he makes a strangled, half-choked noise in the back of his throat. Felix brings his hands up to cup Sylvain’s face and Sylvain melts into his touch. It’s been five years since he last kissed Felix, and it’s even better than it is in the hallowed halls of his memory. He leans into the kiss and rests a hand on Felix’s knee, opening his mouth for Felix to slip his tongue inside. Just as quickly as he started, Felix jolts back, pulling his hands away. Sylvain makes a noise at the separation before he can convince himself not to, and Felix’s face flushes red.

“Sorry,” he says. 

“No, it’s fine.” Sylvain says. He’s going to kiss Felix again. He’s already leaning forward to grab Felix’s hand and make it happen, but Felix shifts further away.

“I don’t want your pity,” he snaps, something like disgust twisting his features.

“It’s not pity,” Sylvain says. “Felix, I’ve been-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Felix says, like a prayer. He closes his eyes, his shoulders bunching up as if to shield him from Sylvain, as if Sylvain would ever hurt him. He’d rip his heart out of his chest right now and hand it to Felix if he thought it would help. “Just go, Sylvain.”

Even when he hasn’t done anything wrong, he’s still the monster. “Felix,” he says again. It’s the only word he knows.

“I’m fine,” Felix snaps. “I don’t… fuck, we didn’t talk about it last time. Can’t you just let it go again? It was a mistake.” He tangles one of his hands into his own hair and pulls, so tight it must hurt. Sylvain wants to take Felix’s hand and kiss each of his knuckles unil some of that tension leaks out of him. That probably wouldn’t help right now. “This didn’t happen.”

Sylvain swallows. This is for the best. He needs Felix to be his friend. They didn’t talk about their kiss from five years ago, and they don’t need to talk about it now. War is hard. They’re lonely, and stressed, and none of this means anything. “Sure,” Sylvain says. He stands. “Anything you want.”

He leaves and falls into bed with a soldier from another regiment, someone with soft hands and a pale smile who won’t ask questions. It’s better this way, he tells himself, as he arches his back and gives into whatever it is he’s letting happen to him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi! you'll notice that the rating on this has gone up to explicit! it's pretty tame this chapter tbh, but there will be more sex later in this fic. if you want to skip the nsfw scene, it starts in earnest when Sylvain says "I'm going to kiss you now," and ends with the end of the fic! i'll include a lil summary at the end of the fic w/ what happens so if you wanna skip it you can <3
> 
> thanks for reading!

Sylvain’s only been to Ailell a handful of times. There was the time with Ingrid and her suitor, a few stray missions, and now. The heat is even more oppressive than he remembers it being. Lady is sluggish and slow in the weather, and he feels almost cruel for bringing her. She’s a horse of Faerghus through and through, and this heat is going to be the death of them both.

It’s so hot that the blood from their enemies feels almost cool against his skin. The Lance of Ruin rips through flesh and armor alike; he’s long lost count of how many have fallen in its wake. It doesn’t matter.

Across the battlefield, Dimitri charges forward without a thought for himself or his allies. He’s ruthless, and his wounds seem not to exist as he cuts down enemy after enemy. Sylvain wheels Lady around and canters over to Mercedes, cutting down an enemy archer as they raise their bow. She nods at him in thanks, and raises her hands to heal Dimitri from afar. He doesn’t seem to notice, and Sylvain spends the rest of the battle hovering near Mercedes so she can keep them all limping along for a bit longer.

Rodrigue arrives and the tide of battle turns quickly after that. Sir Gwendal falls. Dimitri answers Rodrigue’s questions with a callousness that Sylvain never could have imagined him showing towards him as a child.

Felix stands off to the side, fuming. Sylvain thinks about walking over to speak with him, but he still feels the phantom press of Felix’s lips on his. It’s been weeks, and it still haunts his waking hours. Ashe walks over to Felix. Sylvain turns away. He doesn’t need to see what they’re saying.

“Do you think Lord Rodrigue will be able to talk some sense into him?” Ingrid and Mietta land next to him and Lady with a soft thud. There’s blood on Mietta’s flank and a tear in her cape, but they both look unharmed.

“I don’t know,” Sylvain says. “I think he might be past that.”

“Don’t say that,” Ingrid says, pleading. “We’ll save Dimitri. I’m sure of it.”

Sylvain doesn’t think Dimitri's the kind of person you save. He’s the kind of person you throw a lifeline at and pray he doesn’t use it to hang himself. He can’t decide what Rodrigue will think of all this; the Professor in the Empire, Edelgard asking him to convince Dimitri of the Church’s sins. It’s a mess, and it’s one that Sylvain can’t begin to figure out how to untangle.

“Of course,” Sylvain says. “It’s all going to be fine.” He pats Lady’s neck. Dimitri starts off on another one of his rants about Edelgard and how he’ll separate her head from her neck. Thank the Goddess no one has told Dimitri that Edelgard has reached out to them. Sylvain’s pretty sure Dimitri would kill him for it.

He’s never been afraid of Dimitri before. Is this how Felix has felt all these years?

“Right,” Ingrid says. She stands in her stirrups and stretches, then slumps onto Mietta’s neck, burying her face in her mane.

Sylvain runs a gauntleted hand through his hair and looks across to where Felix and Ashe are still speaking. Ashe is talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, but Felix is watching Sylvain.

-

“Seteth?” Sylvain knocks on the door of the office.

Flayn opens the door, a smile gracing her face. “Sylvain! What could you possibly want?”

“Hey Flayn.” Sylvain walks in and drops into the chair opposite Seteth’s desk. “I need to talk to Seteth alone, if you don’t mind.”

Flayn adjusts one of the bows on her sleeve. “Of course! I understand completely. I’ll speak with you later, brother.”

“Is everything alright?” Seteth asks once Flayn has left the room.

Sylvain sighs. “I’ve been in contact with the Emperor.”

“I see.” Seteth closes the door to his office and takes a seat at his desk.

“She made some… interesting allegations about the church.” Sylvain will have to play his cards carefully if he wants this to work out as intended. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to confirm them.”

Seteth frowns. Not a good sign, probably. “What sort of allegations?”

“About what Rhea really is.” He cocks his head to the side and smiles, slow and careful. “About what you are. What Flayn is.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Sylvain rests his chin in his hand and pops his neck. “Huh. That’s a real shame, Seteth. Sorry, I should call you by your proper name. It’s Saint Cichol, right?”

“Sylvain,” Seteth’s voice is low and measured. Sylvain’s smile widens.

“What?”

Seteth sighs. “Have you told anyone else about these claims?”

He’s not an idiot. If Dedue were here, maybe, but the rest of them? Absolutely not. Mercedes would tell Annette immediately, and although she wouldn’t tell anyone else, Annette can’t keep a secret to save her life. Ashe probably could, but Sylvain has no idea how he’d inject that into casual conversation. Felix wouldn’t believe him, Ingrid would tell Felix and also not believe him, and Dimitri isn’t worth telling anything anymore.

“Of course not,” Sylvain says. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Seteth replies dryly. “You certainly want people to think you are.”

Sylvain ignores the barb and leans back in the chair. “Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Seteth sighs. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that you’re Saint Cichol and that Flayn’s Saint Cethleann. I want you to confirm that Rhea is Saint Seiros and you’re all thousands of years old.”

“I have no reason to confirm such baseless accusations,” Seteth says. He’s close to kicking Sylvain out of his office all together. Sylvain can see it in the tightening of his jaw and the tension in his hands.

“Is that so?” Sylvain asks. “I don’t think that’s true.” Seteth has a cup of tea in front of him. Sylvain leans forwards and takes a sip, grinning when Seteth’s eyes narrow in annoyance. It’s almost too easy to push his buttons. “Edelgard wants to kill Rhea. You know that, don’t you?”

A muscle in Seteth’s jaws jumps. “I’m well aware.”

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m just saying, I think you should concern yourself less with Rhea and more with Flayn. Rhea’s a lost cause, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not sure why Edelgard hasn’t killed her already, if I’m being honest. But yourself and Flayn? Well, if you act fast, you may still be able to save yourselves.”

“Are you threatening me, Sylvain?”

For the first time in this conversation, it occurs to Sylvain that if Edelgard is correct and Seteth can turn into a giant dragon at will, he could probably kill him with ease. Maybe he should have brought the Lance of Ruin with him. 

Whoops. 

“Of course not,” Sylvain says. “Like I said, I’m not an idiot. I’m just saying, I think you should think things through a little more carefully. Flayn’s a nice girl. I don’t want her to end up dying for Rhea’s war. You should decide if you feel the same.” He stands and walks out of the room, ignoring Seteth calling after him.

-

“Sylvain!” By the time Sylvain looks up, Annette is already most of the way across the dining hall. “What are you doing here!”

Sylvain looks down at the pheasant roast in front of him. “I’m eating lunch?”

“It’s so late!” Annette flings herself down onto the bench next to him.

Sylvain shrugs and keeps eating. “I was busy.”

“If you’re done you should come for a walk with me!” Annette rests her elbows on the table and sets her chin in her hands. “Please?”

Sylvain laughs, whatever it is he was moping about gone in the face of Annette’s laughter. “Alright, fine.” 

He finishes his food and puts his plate away, then follows Annette outside. They don’t make it far before Annette stops, bending down and looking at the ground. “How are you doing, by the way?” She asks.

“I don’t know what the right answer is,” Sylvain says. “Remember when all we had to do was kill Edelgard?”

“Honestly?” Annette says, turning over the smooth stone in her hand. She flicks her hand out and it bounces effortlessly across the water, skipping four times before it sinks into the water. She smiles. She really has grown up pretty. “I think you should write Claude.”

“I could do that,” Sylvain muses. “We’ve never been very close. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Oh, Claude’s great!” Annette picks another rock off the shore of the pond and skips that one, too. Sylvain watches the line of her wrist and tries to puzzle out how to recreate the motion. “Him and I talked back at the academy. He had all sorts of silly ideas about my songs.”

Sylvain nods. “You think he’d be able to confirm Edelgard’s claims?”

“Yup!” Annette presses a rock into his hand. “Here, you try.”

Sylvain hesitates, then turns towards the crystalline water and flicks his wrist. The rock plummets into the water without so much as skipping once.

Annette laughs and hands him another rock. “Try again! You have to flick your wrist up a little, but make sure to keep your hand level.”

Sylvain bites the inside corner of his mouth and does exactly that, watching the rock skate once across the water before sinking.

Annette squeals and claps. “Perfect! I knew you could do it!”

He smiles and bends down, looking for another rock. “You think Claude will want to help us?”

“Of course!” Annette kneels down next to him, sorting through the stones. “People are nicer than they think you are, Sylvain. You should remember that.”

He laughs. “Yeah, right. Thanks Annette.” He finds a rock that looks suitable and skips it once across the water. 

Annette stands and does the same, although her rock skates four times across the water. She pumps one of her arms in the air, grinning.

“Thanks for letting me teach you!” She says. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”

“Who taught you?”

Annette laughs. “It’s a funny story actually! Father did, years and years ago.” She turns one of the stones over in her hands. “I guess it’s not that funny, huh? Back when he still lived with mother and I, he used to take me down to the water during summer. We’d skip stones and he’s carve me little animals out of pieces of wood and make a whole day of it.” She smiles. “Things aren’t like that anymore.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says. He doesn’t know what to say to that sort of thing. “Sorry if I dredged up unpleasant memories.”

She shakes her head. “It’s alright! I’m glad that I can teach someone else! It makes the old memories happier.”

None of them deserve Annette. The sweetest girl in the world, and she’s still gracing them all with her presence. Sylvain tousles her hair and smiles when she squacks indignantly. “Sure, Claude. That sounds like a good idea.”

-

“My father can’t fix Dimitri,” Felix says. He levels his sword at the training dummy, then steps forward and slashes neatly at its side. His form is impeccable, his footwork pristine.

Sylvain rolls his shoulder and selects a training lance from the rack. “I don’t think anyone can fix Dimitri,” Sylvain replies. So it’s going to be that kind of training session. Great.

Felix grunts and slashes at the training dummy again. Sylvain cuts through the air with the lance, dancing forward and then backwards to ensure his feet are paying attention. He doesn’t fight on foot often these days, but there’s always the possibility.

“You’ve gotten slow,” Felix observes.

Sylvain frowns. “I’m used to being on horseback.”

“And what if your mount fell?” Felix shakes his head. “You can’t rely on her or else you’ll end up dead as well.”

“Lady’s gonna live forever,” Sylvain replies. “She’s the first horse to be immortal.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Felix snaps. He’s worked up today, likely from Rodrigue’s presence at the monastery. “This is war. There isn’t time for your foolishness.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “I know, I know. You sound like Ingrid.”

“Don’t accuse me of that. I have no interest in dying in a blaze of glory.”

Goddess, how does Felix keep it up? He can’t imagine having this level of dedication to anything. “Alright, alright,” he says, starting his footwork exercises over again. If it’ll keep Felix happy, he can work a little harder at his training today.

Some time later, when they’ve both gone through training exercises countless times and Sylvain’s muscles are aching, Felix speaks again.

“I can’t believe he’s wasting so much time on the Boar.”

Sylvain lowers his lance. “Have you spoken to him yet?”

Felix brushes his bangs out of his face and sets his sword down. He’s breathing hard, a faint gleam of sweat visible on his muscles. Even when Sylvain is working his hardest, Felix still manages to outpace him.

“Yes,” Felix says. “He asked why I hadn’t contacted him earlier to tell him in more detail about the state of Dimitri.”

“Ouch.” Sylvain wipes the lance off with a soft rag, then dumps some oil into it for cleaning. “Has he said anything about the Professor?”

“Not to me,” Felix replies tersely. “I doubt he’ll care about anything other than his precious King. It’s foolish. The Empire is willing to speak with us, and he’s more concerned with talking to a dead man than any of the living.”

They stand in an uneasy silence for some time as they both clean and put away their weapons. It’s Felix who finally breaks it - neither of them are acting as expected today.

“Did you write Edelgard?”

Sylvain clears his throat. “Yeah. I did.”

Felix nods. He winds a hand into his hair and tugs at it sharply. “That’s smart. It’s good you did.”

Something coiled deep within Sylvain relaxes at Felix’s words. He sighs, feeling some of the tension lift from his shoulders. “I’m glad you think so. I don’t want any of us to die for this.”

“No,” Felix agrees. “I don’t intend to die for the Boar. I’m not my brother.” His face twists as he mentions Glenn. Will there ever be a time when thoughts of him don’t inspire such pain?

-

Felix shows up at Sylvain’s door that night, his hair pulled up even more haphazardly than normal. It’s so short now that he can barely scrape it up into a ponytail, much less put it into a bun like he’s attempted to today. He has flyaways all over his head, and a chunk of his hair has fallen out, framing his face. Sylvain flexes his hand and doesn’t tuck it behind his ear.

Sylvain props his arm against the door, smiling down at Felix. He’s sure he looks like a dick, but he’s not going to do anything to dissuade that image. “Felix. What can I do for you?”

Felix’s scowl deepens. “Shut up.” He shoves past Sylvain, ducking under his arm, which is absurdly cute of him, and then stalks across the room, sitting down on Sylvain’s bed.

Felix doesn’t often get like this, all riled up and unable to be alone - that’s more of a Sylvain move - but when he does, he’s impossible to get rid of. Felix always goes to him or Ingrid when he’s like this. They’re still learning how to deal with it. It’s a new development; Sylvain would like to say he’s had better luck adapting than Ingrid, but that’d be a lie.

“What’s wrong?” Sylvain asks, shutting the door and then leaning against it.

“I’m fine,” Felix says, emotionless.

Sylvain laughs. “Sure. So you’re dropping by around midnight just to chat?”

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” Felix says. 

Sylvain closes the door behind him, crossing the room and sitting down at his desk. Whatever Felix wants to talk about, this is going to be a rough night. “Who, your father?”

Felix shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “Glenn,” he says, the name a confession in and of itself.

“Ah,” Sylvain says, looking down into his lap. He doesn’t know what Felix wants from him. Most of the time, it’s easy to figure out what people are after, but with Felix, sometimes it doesn’t seem like he wants anything at all. It’s fucked up. If Felix wants company, he should find Ingrid or Annette. Sylvain isn’t good for that sort of thing. “What about him?”

Felix laces his fingers together, almost as though in prayer. A laughable thought: Felix has never cared for the goddess. “He’d know what to do,” Felix says haltingly. “About Dimitri.”

Sylvain doesn’t think it would be prudent to point out that Dimitri and Glenn used to fight near-constantly. It sometimes seems like he’s the only one who remembers _that_ side of Glenn. For all Felix’s talk of letting the dead stay dead, he certainly remembers a glorified version of Glenn.

Sylvain looks away from Felix, fixing his gaze on the corner of his room. He can’t see a version of this conversation that doesn’t end in Felix storming off and Sylvain being unable to stop him. “I don’t know,” he says, and his tone is all wrong, far too casual for this vulnerability Felix is gracing him with, but he can’t stop it. “I think Glenn would throw a fit if he saw him.”

Felix’s frown deepens. “He’d know what to do,” he says again, as if that makes it true.

Sylvain shrugs and still doesn’t look at Felix. “I don’t know. Dimitri seems to think that Glenn would want nothing more than Edelgard’s head on a spike.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Felix snaps. “I know you’re incapable of taking anything seriously, but any hope of peace is lost unless we do something about the damned Boar.”

Sylvain scrubs a hand over his face, “Felix, I am taking this seriously. I just don’t think Glenn would have been any help.”

Felix’s laugh is bitter, and the hair on the back of Sylvain’s neck stands up at the sound. He sounds beyond dangerous, like he’ll pull out his sword and gut Sylvain in his own room. “Fine, Sylvain. You tell me what to do about Dimitri then.”

That’s the difference between Sylvain and Dimitri and Felix and Dimitri. Felix always needs to do something about Dimitri. Sylvain thinks that Dimitri should figure out how to take care of himself for once. Maybe he’s wrong.

Maybe he’s just crueler than Felix.

“No clever remarks?” Felix says. “Nothing else to say about my brother? Try thinking about something other than yourself for once.” He stands, and Sylvain can’t leave it like this. They’ve all fought so much lately; they _can’t_ leave it like this.

“Felix, c’mon,” he says. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I never know what you mean anymore,” Felix retorts. There’s not enough venom in his voice to disguise his sadness.

Sylvain drags his best smile up to the surface and prays that Felix doesn’t see through it. “I don’t know what I mean half the time. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” His 

voice is needling, whiny, and he knows it is just as apt to disgust Felix as it is to invoke pity.

Felix doesn’t reply, but he sits back down on Sylvain’s bed.

What Felix needs is something concrete. A solution to the problem that is Dimitri, that is the war, that is all of their fucking lives right now. Too bad everything is in ruins right now. They all probably need to get used to some uncertainty.

“I miss him too,” Sylvain says. He isn’t sure who he’s talking about anymore. 

Felix closes his eyes, and Sylvain wonders if he’s thinking the same thing that Sylvain is thinking: that it doesn’t matter who they’re talking about, because Sylvain will never be able to miss anyone the way that Felix misses Glenn and Dimitri. He wasn’t built for that kind of devotion.

“What do you need?” he asks, searching Felix’s face. There are no answers to be found there.

This is a bad idea.

He stands and walks over to stand in front of Felix. “Let me take care of you,” he says instead. His voice is low, careful. It’s the same voice he uses to talk a girl who’s on the fence into coming home with him.

Felix’s eyes snap open. He looks up at Sylvain, eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“We didn’t talk about it five years ago,” Sylvain says. His hand hovers a hair’s breadth away from Felix’s arm. “We didn’t talk about it on Glenn’s birthday. We don’t have to talk about it now.” This is a bad idea. “I can make you feel better.”

Felix’s eyes slide closed once more. The muscles in his face relax until no expression at all remains. “You don’t have to.”

Sylvain lets his hand come down to rest on Felix’s upper arm. Felix jerks at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. Good. That’s good. Sylvain can work with that. “I know,” he says, easy as anything. “I wouldn’t offer if I thought I had to.” That’s a lie. Sylvain would do anything if he thought it would help Felix feel better.

Felix doesn’t speak or open his eyes, but he nods, ever so slightly, and Sylvain feels that terrible coil of tension in his gut start to unwind. He wants this. He wants Felix, even though it'll lead to nothing good. “What do you want?” Sylvain asks again, soft as a secret.

Felix purses his lips. “Does it matter? Just touch me.”

“Okay,” Sylvain says, swallowing the slight hint of hysteria that threatens to overwhelm him. “Okay. I can do that.” He squeezes Felix’s bicep lightly, then brings his other hand up to cup his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone lightly.

“Get on with it already,” Felix snaps. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, almost as though he’s ashamed. Sylvain wonders if Felix will be better able to look at him once he’s been taken out of his own head, or if he’ll be the type to be so overwhelmed that it’ll be even harder for him than usual.

Either way, he intends to find out.

Sylvain smiles and tilts Felix’s head up, angling his mouth just so. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says. “Is that alright?”

“I meant what I said.”

“Right,” Sylvain says, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Right.” He looks down at Felix, who has remained remarkably quiet and compliant throughout this. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, then bends down to cover Felix’s lips with his own.

This is the third time he’s kissed Felix, but it’s the first time there’s been any intent behind it. It’s amazing what a difference it makes.

Felix’s lips are chapped to all hell, which is hardly surprising, considering he can’t take care of anything but his damned swords. Sylvain brushes his thumb against Felix’s cheek again, and Felix makes a soft, pleased noise in the back of his throat.

Sylvain presses forward touching his tongue to the seam of Felix’s lips. Felix responds beautifully, opening his mouth wide enough for Sylvain to slide his tongue inside, and then tilting his head back further so as to provide Sylvain better access. He expected everything about this to be a battle, but Felix is pliant and soft in his hands.

Sylvain pulls away from their kiss and looks down at Felix. He’s still perched on the edge of Sylvain’s bed, and he’s beautiful. There’s a slight flush on his cheeks, and he opens his eyes to look up at Sylvain. Felix doesn’t reach after him, but one of his hands twitches as though he’s thinking about it. Sylvain grins, and Felix looks off to the side, one of his hands curling into Sylvain’s sheets.

“Why’d you stop?” Felix asks. His voice has an edge to it that Sylvain has never heard before, even in all their years of friendship, and it causes something to curl tight in his gut. He wants to know how far Felix is willing to let this go, how far he can push him.

Sylvain smirks. “I’m just getting started.”

Felix’s shoulders shift, and he tips his chin up. His mouth is red and even though they’ve barely done anything, there’s a desperation to his gaze that’s overwhelming. Sylvain likes the way Felix looks after being kissed. He swallows his dawning sense of horror at the realization. He’s never been one to think his exploits through, and there’s no reason to start now. 

“Come on,” Sylvain says, pushing gently at Felix’s shoulder. “Just lay back and think of Faerghus, right?”

“If I wanted you to stop, I’d make you,” Felix says. 

His voice slices through Sylvain like a knife, and he smiles. “I know, I know. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Shut up,” Felix says. “Do something useful, why don’t you?”

Sylvain’s smile turns sly and mocking. He’s good at this. He’d forgotten for a moment, too caught up in the sight of Felix before him like this, but he’s good at this, good at taking someone apart and making it feel like a favor. 

“Useful, huh?” He moves his hand down to grip Felix’s chin tightly in his hand. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He leans forward and kisses Felix, nipping lightly at his bottom lip before drawing back once more.

“Do you want me on my knees?” He settles himself down into Felix’s lap, his knees bracketing Felix’s hips. “Or here? In your lap, on your cock?” He tilts his head to the side, “What’s useful, Felix? You’ll have to help me out.”

Felix’s face flushes pink, and his mouth opens slightly. “Sylvain,” he says, but then stops. If he’s at a loss for words after a little bit of dirty talk, Sylvain thinks, this is gonna be the death of him.

Sylvain bends down, mouthing at Felix’s neck with first his teeth, then tonguing over the mark he’s left. Felix jerks under him, his hands coming to rest on Sylvain’s arms, the small of his back, then finally one of his hands sliding up into his hair and gripping tightly. Sylvain draws back, examining the purple bruise blossoming over the hollow of Felix’s throat.

“That’s good,” Sylvain says. “do that again.”

“Hm,” Felix says, wry and dangerous. He tugs Sylvain’s hair again, harder this time, and Sylvain’s breath hitches audibly. “Like that?”

Sylvain bends back down, returning his attention to Felix’s neck. He kisses the underside of Felix’s jaw with teeth and tongue, and Felix tilts his head back even further, shifting underneath him, his hand in Sylvain’s hair tightening. Felix is still holding back, Sylvain’s sure - he’s watched Felix kill before, and thinks if Felix were pulling at his hair as hard as he could, he’d be blinking back tears from the pain.

The thought of it sends a shiver shooting down his spine. Sylvain wraps his arm tight around Felix’s waist and lifts his head to kiss him, curling his tongue into his mouth. Felix makes a tiny, strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Sylvain kisses him harder in response, trying to elicit the same reaction.

“Sylvain, I-” Felix’s voice is already strained. Goddess, how long has it been for him? Maybe he’d be wound less tightly if he was getting some more often. Really, this is a public service more than anything else.

“I know, baby,” he crowns, sliding a hand under Felix’s shirt.

His hand presses flat against Felix’s ribcage and he’s overcome by a desire to trace every bone with his fingers, as if that would prove that it really is Felix underneath his hands. If he really tried, could he crack one of them? The thought is far too violent for the bedroom, but so is Felix. Even like this, Felix is still made up of mostly sharp edges and cruel remarks, and Sylvain wouldn’t have him any other way. Felix pushes people away at every opportunity, but he’ll never be able to get rid of Sylvain.

Felix arches his back, breaking the kiss to grip Sylvain’s arm. “What do you want?” Sylvain asks for a third time. This time, it comes out all wrong. Normally asking someone what they want in bed makes him sound cocky. After all, if he’s doing a good job, then he knows what they’ll want from him. When posted to Felix, though, Sylvain sounds helpless. Overwhelmed, as though there's infinite options in front of him and he's unable to choose between them. Like he can’t make a single decision without Felix’s input.

The room is silent except for the sounds of their breathing. This is a bad idea. He shouldn’t be doing this. Felix tips his chin up, his eyes narrowed - he’s always fighting against something, even now. “You,” Felix says. It’s too big of a confession for what this is, it’s too complicated and large and looming over them.

Sylvain can’t do this. This is a mistake. This is - this is Felix. This is one of the few people he’s ever had any idea of how to love. He touches a hand to Felix’s face, horrified by his own tenderness. “Okay,” he whispers. 

He bends down and kisses Felix again, sliding his tongue into his mouth and moaning as he bites at Felix’s lip. Felix tugs at his hair again and Sylvain’s eyes flutter closed. This is a bad idea. He squeezes Felix’s ribcage with the hand under his shirt, then drops it down to palm at Felix through his pants. This is a bad idea. Felix makes a soft, strangled noise that Sylvain wants to remember for the rest of his life. 

This is a terrible idea.

He meant to draw this out and really make a mess of Felix, but he sounds so desperate already, and despite what others may think, Sylvain is a charitable man. So he does the kindest thing he can and undoes Felix’s pants. He palms at hin again, then reaches into Felix’s underclothes and wraps his hand around Felix’s cock. Felix’s breath hitches and his head tips back. It’s such an obvious invitation that Sylvain can’t help himself as he leans forward and mouths at the underside of Felix’s jaw.

“Sylvain,” Felix says.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Sylvain says. He shouldn’t be doing this. His teeth scrape over Felix’s skin as his hand starts to move. Felix’s hips buck up into his hand, and Sylvain twists his wrist with a flourish. If he’s going to ruin their friendship and fuck everything up forever, he’s at least going to be memorable. 

“I’m not your baby,” Felix snaps.

Sylvain laughs, his grip on Felix’s dick tightening a little. Felix makes a noise at that. Of course he’d want a little bit of pain with his pleasure. Sylvain doesn’t know what he expected. “Course not,” Sylvain says into the crook of Felix’s neck. 

He nips at the skin there, pulling it between his teeth and then soothing the bite with his tongue. He pulls his head back to watch the purple mark bloom across his skin. Felix is going to look like he’s been attacked by some sort of animal tomorrow, but Sylvain can’t bring himself to care. He’s drunk on this feeling, on the sight of Felix in his bed and his marks on Felix’s skin.

He twists his hand into Felix’s hair and brings his head down to kiss him. It’s hardly a kiss - Felix is clearly close to unravelling - but it’s good to be close to him all the same. “Has no one ever done this for you before?” Sylvain says once Felix breaks their kiss.

“Stop teasing,” Felix snaps. His face is red, but his mouth opens slightly when Sylvain rubs his thumb over the head of his dick.

“You don’t seem to mind that much,” Sylvain observes. “Besides, I’m being so nice to you, aren’t I?”

Felix glares at him. Sylvain grins and kisses him once, quickly. He’s having fun. He’s aware of everything that’s going on around them and he’s having fun. 

This is a mistake.

Felix comes with a bitten off cry. Sylvain wants to replay it over and over for the rest of his life. He pulls his hand out of Felix’s pants when Felix shoves at his shoulder and wipes it off on his sheets. Felix’s face is flushed, and his hair has fallen most of the way out of his bun. There’s a strand stuck to the side of his face. Sylvain’s hard, his erection pressing up tight against the front of his pants, but he thinks he could get off just to this, to Felix sitting in his bed looking like this. They haven’t even done anything - this barely qualifies a hookup in Sylvain's book, if he’s being honest.

But then again, this is Felix.

Sylvain shoves a hand down his own pants, wrapping it around his cock. This is the same hand that was just on Felix, he tells himself. It shouldn’t mean anything, and yet. And yet.

Felix watches Sylvain jerk himself off with half-lidded eyes. He’s propped up on his elbows, and his shirt is rucked up from where Sylvain had been touching his chest.

“You could help a guy out,” Sylvain says, grinning as he works his hand.

“I could,” Felix says. He doesn’t move.

Sylvain whines a little as his hand speeds up. He’s not some teenager; he’s done this sort of thing plenty of times before. This is different, though; Felix’s eyes are on him, and even though he’s just come, there’s an intent behind his gaze that’s too heavy for Sylvain. “Felix,” he says, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Felix sighs like he’s been presented with some terrible nuisance. He sits up and knocks Sylvain’s hand aside, replacing it with his own. “You can do better than that, surely,” he says. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, betraying his facade for what it is.

Sylvain leans forward to kiss Felix as his hand works him up and down. It’s not the best handjob he’s ever had, but it’s Felix, and that makes all the difference. They kiss lazily while Felix jerks him off, and when Sylvain comes it’s with a strangled cry against Felix’s mouth.

After, Sylvain stands and cleans them both off. Felix lounges in his bed, his pants still undone and his shirt rumpled. He hardly looks debauched at all. Next time, Sylvain will have to do better.

What is he thinking? There isn’t going to be a next time.

Sylvain climbs back into his bed, unsure if it’d be breaking some sort of code to pull Felix into his arms or not. He’s never hooked up like this with someone he’s close to. He doesn’t want to kick Felix out like he would his other conquests, but he can’t spend the night next to Felix. He can’t wake up to Felix’s bedhead and rumpled clothes, to the sight of him warming his bed. This entire situation is already in danger of becoming something it shouldn’t. He can’t push it any further.

Luckily, Felix makes the decision for him. He untangles himself from Sylvain’s sheets when Sylvain climbs back into bed. He combs fingers through his mess of a hairdo, then adjusts his shirt. “I assume you’re smart enough not to mention this to anyone.”

“Of course,” Sylvain replies. He leans back against his pillows, letting his legs fall open. Felix’s hands fumble as he rebuttons his shirt. Sylvain grins, slow and calculating. “Hey, Felix?”

Felix freezes. “What?”

“If you need this again,” Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “Well. You know where to find me.”

Felix squares his shoulders. “I won’t.” 

He walks out of the room, leaving Sylvain alone in the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw content summary - felix is upset and goes to talk to sylvain, sylvain offers to make him feel better and distract him, then gets him off. they don't talk about their feelings and it is pretty obviously an unhealthy coping mechanism for both of them


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue returns. The Kingdom Army meets the Alliance and the Empire at Gronder. Sylvain makes a deal, and Felix has a realization. Bit by bit, Dimitri remembers how to soften his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for canonical character death! this is. a sad one folks. i would like to say the black eagles are faring better, but that chapter is also sad, rip
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

Dedue’s return during the battle at the Great Bridge of Myrddin is the closest thing to a miracle that any of them have ever seen. Even Dimitri is lucid for a moment when he arrives on the battlefield. His eye shines clear and blue, and he’s shouting orders with an expression that is almost peaceful.

Such lucidity fades, of course, but it’s enough to give them all a new wave of hope. Dedue is back, Dimitri recognized him, and there is, perhaps, a future awaiting them. 

Still, even with Dedue, neither side claims a victory in the battle. They take out Ferdinand von Aegir before they’re forced to retreat - he falls to his knees before Ingrid and she doesn’t hesitate when Dimitri orders that he be struck down - but they suffer heavy losses. The Empire retreats as well, which should mean triumph, if not for their own depleted battalions and the wounds they’ve all suffered. Mercedes works herself ragged healing them all, and by the time the battle is done she’s exhausted, laying slumped against Annette’s side in the shade of a tree.

Still, they’re all mostly alive, and even better, they’ve regained Dedue. Sylvain can’t help but abandon everything to go over to him, pawning off Lady on Ingrid and damn near throwing himself into Dedue’s arms. He’s broader than he was the last time they spoke, and there are new scars on his face, but it’s still Dedue. “We thought you were dead.” Sylvain’s voice is broken, more raw than he thought it would be. It’s the fault of Faerghus, he supposes. They don’t believe in miracles, just death.

Dedue is immobile, like hugging a statue, but then he’s gently bringing his arms around Sylvain. “It is good to know I was missed,” he says.

When Sylvain pulls away from their hug, there’s a faint smile on the other man’s face, one that Sylvain can’t help but reflect.

“Dedue!” Ashe’s voice is lighter than it has sounded in months, and Sylvain watches his friend streak across their makeshift camp.

Where Dedue had been hesitant at Sylvain’s affection, there is no such thing with Ashe. He lifts the other man clear off the ground as Ashe loops his arms around Dedue, burying his face in his neck. Sylvain walks away from their joy and quiet words: such things are not meant for his ears.

-

_To my dear students,_

_I understand that Ferdinand fell in the battle at the Bridge of Myrddin. I am selfishly glad that all of you remain alive and well, and my joy at news of Dedue’s return can not be overstated. That being said, I beg of you, if you think Dimitri can be convinced to discuss peace, please do so. Edelgard is willing to compromise so long as you see reason._

_As for your doubt in relation to the Church of Seiros, I can confirm that Edelgard’s claims are true. Rhea is indeed a dragon named the Immaculate One, and is Saint Seiros herself. The more I hear about her, the more concerning it is. Seteth refuses to give me a straight answer - perhaps one of you will have more luck with him. I doubt it._

_Dedue, I cannot begin to say how happy I am to know you are alive. You and I are both people of few words, so I will say that I miss you and am pleased you still live and leave it at that._

_I will write again soon. I pray things resolve swiftly._

_Your devoted servant,_

_Byleth_

-

The next time they meet the Empire is at Grondor. It’s a grim situation: Claude and his troops are to their northeast, and Edelgard’s forces wait to the northwest. They are all soldiers first and foremost; none of them have Claude or Byleth’s mind for strategy. Still, they have Dimitri, and the sheer brutality he exhibits can cut through most enemy battalions.

Before the battle begins, Edelgard sends a soldier over with a sealed request for parley. Dimitri guts the man in front of their eyes, and Sylvain plucks the letter from the dead man’s hand. He skims it over and sighs. “I’ll go,” he volunteers. “She wants someone to meet Hubert halfway between our camps.”

Dimitri turns towards him. The force of his expression curdles Sylvain’s blood: it evokes drowning under a pond frozen from the ice and the chill of a winter blizzard. “You would speak with that monster?”

Sylvain sighs. “Your Highness, we’ve been over this. I-”

“You are no better than them!” Dimitri roars, his voice tearing through the relative silence of their war camp.

Sylvain flinches back from the force of his voice reflexively and hates himself for it. Dedue, always at Dimitri’s side, shoots him a concerned look and takes a step forward. He’s not between them by any means, but he’s partially in front of Dimitri. “Your Highness. A moment, if you will?”

Dimitri is half-mad from his ghosts: it’s easy to divert his attention. Dedue leads him away with a hand on his elbow, his head bent close to his king. Sylvain flexes his hands and curses under his breath before walking over to Lady and running a gentle hand over her neck. She must sense something is wrong - for once she doesn’t pin her ears back, just stands quietly and lets him touch her.

Footsteps crunch on the dry grass around them, and Sylvain turns. Ingrid watches, a slight frown on her face. “Be careful,” she says.

Sylvain winks at her and swings into the saddle. “I’m always careful.”

Ingrid reaches out and grabs hold of one of Lady’s reins. “I’m just saying,” she lowers her voice. “Who knows what Edelgard is really up to?”

Sylvain laughs, the sound saturated with bitterness. “Ingrid, I hate to break it to you, but Dimitri’s the one that just looked like he might kill me.”

Ingrid’s features go pinched and withdrawn, and she lets go of Lady’s reins to let him trot off.

Halfway between their camps, Hubert stands on a grassy knoll, looking impetuous. The light breeze tousles his hair, and he looks almost handsome for a moment there. Something really must be wrong with the state of the world, if Sylvain can think such things about Hubert of all people. He pulls Lady to a stop and looks down at him. “I’ll admit, I was hoping the Empire would send someone a little easier on the eyes.”

Hubert scowls. “Where’s our messenger?”

Sylvain slides off of Lady’s back and loops her reins over his elbow. She tosses her head and he scratches absently at her withers. “Oh, Dimitri saw his clothing and killed him. Big mess, really. Lots of blood.”

“So there is no sign of Dimitri relenting then?” Hubert’s voice is flat, unimpressed. “Look,” Sylvain says. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not going to disclose details of the Faerghus army to you. You’re still the enemy, at the end of the day.”

He doesn’t know what he expected from this meeting. The sight of Hubert fills him with revulsion; he wishes they’d sent anyone else. Something about Edelgard’s pet has always turned his stomach.

“You know she will win, don’t you?” Hubert sounds almost bored. “Your mad king will fall, and Lady Edelgard will sweep in a new era of change. It will be a better world.”

“I know.” Sylvain is so tired. “But I can’t help you kill him.”

Hubert sighs, a thousand years of frustration contained within it. “Then help her save him.”

Sylvain turns away, looking back towards their camp. “I don’t know how.” He says at last, all his facades long gone. “Faerghus isn’t big on saving people, as a rule.”

“Neither am I,” Hubert says. His voice is acidic, corroding any good will Sylvain might have felt for the other man. “But she is, and that will have to be enough.”

“There’s still Claude,” Sylvain replies. “You can’t expect us to not fight in the battle.” “Of course not,” Hubert snaps. “We are at war. You and I are both well aware that our talks are tentative at best.”

“Then what do you want?” Sylvain snaps, curling a hand tight into Lady’s mane. She pins her ears back and snaps at him, and he smacks her shoulder without looking away from Hubert.

“It’s simple,” Hubert says. “As a gesture of goodwill, don’t kill our commanders. We will respond in kind. Should our units try to retreat, let them. The same will go to yours.”

Sylvain has no idea how he’s supposed to tell Dimitri about this, much less get him to agree to it, but he can feel some kind of weight lifting off his chest at the thought that even if the Empire thoroughly trounces them, Felix and the rest of his former classmates will live through the battle.

“Very well,” Sylvain says. For once, his mouth doesn’t taste like ash. “I think that can be arranged.”

-

They all live through Gronder. Edelgard stays true to her word, and Dedue keeps Dimitri from throwing himself at every enemy unit. After, they reconvene amongst themselves, talking quietly. None of them see Fleche until it’s too late.

Rodrigue dies in Dimitri’s arms, and any warm happiness that had ever been in Felix’s eyes winks out of existence.

-

There are some things Sylvain knows he will never outgrow, and being a light sleeper is one of them. It’s safer, to know if someone else is in the room with him. Sharing a wall with Dimitri during the academy was hell. 

Now, Dimitri stands in an empty cathedral and talks to his ghosts. Or at least, he had. He’d been almost lucid after the battle, and had stood to the side quietly conversing with Gilbert and Dedue. Sylvain hopes he’s asleep somewhere, dreaming of something close to peaceful. Still, a knock at the door is enough to wake him from his fitful sleep. Sylvain drags himself out of bed and stumbles over to the door, opening it to reveal Felix standing before him. He looks dreadful, the deep lines near his eyes even more pronounced than usual. He’s rigid, the set of his shoulders a perfectly straight line. He’s looking at Sylvain, but it doesn’t seem like he sees much of anything. Felix’s eyes are glazed over, as if he’s barely there.

“Felix?” Sylvain softens his voice, lowers it to as soothing a register as he can. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Felix says. He doesn’t move.

Sylvain waits.

Felix sighs, his whole body crumpling in on himself. His chin falls to his chest, his gaze fixed despondently on the floor. It’s not anywhere close to an answer, and Sylvain wraps his hand around Felix’s wrist and tugs him into the bedroom. 

Felix goes willingly, his sorrow making him pliant and soft. Sylvain has seen many sides of Felix, and has seen many sides of his grief. Even so, he’s never seen him like this: so stricken with sorrow that there is hardly anything left of him.

“Felix.” Sylvain’s voice cracks when he says his name, something that is wholly unacceptable. He can’t fall apart, not when Felix is in front of him, looking like a puppet with cut strings. “What do you need?” He sounds desperate and terrified, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He can deal with Felix’s anger, can hold himself tall and strong like a brick wall for Felix to break himself against, but he can’t weather this quiet misery. Sylvain is not a creature made for comforting others. The remnants of his friendship with Dimitri prove that. 

“I-” Felix’s voice cuts off, and he sinks to his knees.

Without thinking, Sylvain drops down to join him. This isn’t something the two of them have done in a long time. When Glenn died, the four of them lost their mediator, and they all, inch by inch, forgot how to be unreservedly kind to each other.

But this isn’t kindness. This is necessary.

Sylvain pulls Felix into his lap and Felix goes, and it feels right, is the problem. It feels like this is where Felix belongs, and Sylvain never wants him to leave again. Felix curls into his chest and presses his face into his shirt, letting out a shuddering breath as he does so. Sylvain hushes him quietly and wraps his arms around him, whispering promises that he’ll deny having said later.

“Please don’t leave,” Felix chokes out at last. His voice reverberates through Sylvain’s chest, and he finds himself bringing up a hand to tangle in Felix’s hair, holding him there.

“I won’t leave,” he promises. “Together until the end, remember? I’m not going anywhere until the day we die.”

Felix nods into the crook of his neck. He’s not crying, but he’s trembling slightly, and that’s almost worse. Felix hates appearing weak, must hate that he’s letting Sylvain see him like this. “I’ve got you,” he says softly, and Felix makes a choked noise and nestles further into the circle of his arms.

Sylvain doesn’t know how long they stay on the floor, with Felix’s face pressed into the soft skin of his neck and his hands tracing patterns on Felix’s back.

“Stay here for the rest of the night,” Sylvain whispers. There’s a fragile peace in the room right now, and he’s loath to break it. “For my sake?”

Felix sighs, near boneless in Sylvain’s arms. “If you insist.” Sylvain is sure he’s misinterpreting the faint hint of pleasure in Felix’s voice, but he lets himself bask in it anyways. It’s nice to feel wanted. “Thank you.” Sylvain stands, his arms still encircled around Felix.

The last time they were in bed together, it ended with Felix leaving and a gaping in Sylvain’s chest that he wishes he could set aside. Tonight, though, Felix is the only living Fraldarius, and nothing will ever be the same again. Sylvain climbs into bed, pressing himself against the wall and leaving as much room for Felix as possible. Felix stands for a moment, one arm hugged around his chest and holding tight to his upper arm. He sighs, then lifts the blankets and climbs into Sylvain’s bed.

Sylvain reaches out and drapes an arm over Felix’s waist, and Felix scoots close to him, tucking his head under Sylvain’s chin. Sylvain has never thought of Felix as anything other than strong, but tonight he feels small and frail, like he’ll shatter to pieces if Sylvain isn’t there to hold him together. As if in answer to that thought, Sylvain wraps his arm tighter around Felix. Felix makes a soft noise in the back of his throat at the gesture, and it breaks Sylvain’s heart. “I’ve got you,” he says again, pressing his nose into the rat’s nest of Felix’s hair.

Felix doesn’t respond, but he tightens his grip on Sylvain’s shirt. Sylvain throws his leg over Felix’s and they fall asleep like that, hopelessly entangled.

-

When Sylvain wakes in the morning, Felix is sitting on the edge of the bed pulling his boots on. He’s leaving, of course, but Sylvain doesn’t want him to.

“Felix?” He sits up, blinking groggily.

Felix hunches in on himself. Sylvain traces the curve of his back with his eyes and wants.

“Go back to sleep.” There is none of last night’s sadness in Felix’s voice, only a sharp callousness that makes Sylvain’s heart ache just the same. The blankets pool around Sylvain’s waist, but he reaches out to rest a hand on Felix’s back. Immediately, the muscles in his back tense, and Sylvain withdraws his hand. “Did you sleep alright?”

“No.” Felix’s voice is short, clipped.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

“It’s not your fault,” Felix snaps. He sighs, stops fiddling with his boots and places his hands in his lap. One of his palms faces the ceiling, his fingers curled inwards. “I dream I’m at Duscur sometimes. It’s been happening for years. I watch Glenn die, or I die instead of him. No matter what, Dimitri always lives. Once I killed Glenn myself, and Dimitri watched.”

“That’s fucked up,” Sylvain says. He climbs clumsily out of the nest of blankets, and rocks forward to kneel next to Felix on the bed.

“You know what it means, don’t you?” Felix says, gnawing on his lip. He’s not looking at Sylvain, but it doesn’t seem like he’s looking at much of anything really. His gaze is still pointed at his hands, but his eyes are glassy and vacant, as if he sees right through them.

Sylvain swallows. His fingers twitch, but he ignores them. He isn’t going to give in now. He’s taken advantage of enough people to know the signs of someone ripe for the picking. “No,” he says softly. “What’s it mean?”

Felix smiles, almost serene. “It means I’m going to die for Dimitri.”

“No,” Sylvain says, guttural. “No.”

Felix looks at his hands. They’re shaking slightly, and that far off look in his eye still hasn’t abated. “My father died for him. My brother died for him.”

“You’re not them,” Sylvain says. His mouth tastes stale, and there’s a thudding in his ears. As much as he doesn’t believe he’s going to make it out of this war alive, he needs Felix to live. He needs to think that Felix will live so he can keep moving forward. If Felix dies, so does any hope Sylvain has of continuing to limp his way through this. 

“This is my legacy,” Felix says, voice steady. 

“You don’t believe in legacies,” Sylvain says. His protest sounds weak, even to himself.

“Fine then,” Felix snaps, finally raising his head to look at him. “What do you think is going to happen?”

There are a lot of ways to answer that question. There’s Edelgard’s head on a pike, there’s Edelgard striking Dimitri through the chest and ending it. There’s the slim, hopeful chance of peace, of Edelgard or Dimitri stepping down from their crusades and meeting in the middle. There’s Sylvain and all of their friends dying, or surviving and having to live with what they did. There’s battles and meals on the road and sleeping in cramped tent quarters. 

When he speaks, there is no room for hesitation in his voice. “The war will end and we’ll all live long, happy lives. Dimitri will remember what it is to be a king and Ingrid will be a knight with the highest honors and a mount that loves her. Dedue will open a restaurant and the smell of the food will make everyone forget their hatred. Ashe will go to bed every night knowing where his next meal is coming from and will never be lonely again. Mercedes will open a church, or an orphanage, or whatever it is that saints who walk the earth do, and she’ll bring peace to everyone who knows her. Annette will laugh and knock things over and write us all too many letters while she’s off making the world laugh with her.”

Felix closes his eyes. “And what about us?”

Sylvain needs to take Felix’s hand. He’ll die if he doesn’t, and then the grand story he’s just spun will all come crashing down around them. He slides his fingers between Felix’s, forcing his hand to uncurl from itself. “I’ll stop sleeping around and get my act together. You’ll take over the Fraldarius Estate and do a better job than you thought you would. I’ll write you letters and sometimes you’ll respond. We’ll have nightmares, but every week they’ll be a little less awful.”

“That’s a nice story,” Felix says.

Sylvain smiles and goes to put his arm around Felix. 

Felix pulls his hand away and stands. When he looks down at Sylvain, there’s sadness written all over his face. “It’s a shame none of it will come true.”

He turns and walks away, leaving Sylvain to his empty room once more.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Sylvain and Felix are finally honest with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're in the homestretch folks! i'm so excited and also a little overwhelmed by all the positive attention this fic has gotten, it makes me so happy :)) as always, let me know what you think!

One of Sylvain’s favorite things about being friends with Mercedes is that he can show up to her room, unannounced and long past midnight, and the only question she asks is if he would like a cookie. He shakes his head and steps past her, pacing the edge of her rug restlessly.

Mercedes doesn’t speak again and sits down on the floor, pulling out a basket of sewing supplies and an old shirt of Dedue’s that somehow lost all its buttons.

Finally, Sylvain caves and speaks. He stops at the far edge of the rug, looking down at her. “What do you think of all this?”

Mercedes shrugs and continues with her sewing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Sylvain wrings his hand together and continues his pacing.

She sighs. “Come sit.”

He sits. Sylvain has long learned not to argue with Mercedes von Martritz. 

Mercedes hands him a cookie from the basket next to her and keeps working. Sylvain eats it slowly, savoring it as much as possible and basking in the company. As much as he loves Ingrid and Felix, being alone with them comes with the assumption that there’s some sort of plan in place. With Mercedes, it’s easy to just sit. Dimitri used to be the same, a long time ago.

It’s some time before Mercedes speaks again. “Edelgard asked me to join her once.” She sounds more reflective than usual, and Sylvain feels a rush of fondness for her and the trust she’s placing in him.

“She did?” Sylvain pauses in his snacking for a moment, staring at her with a slightly shocked expression.

Mercedes nods serenely and threads her needle again, smoothing down another button, “My brother is the Death Knight. You know that.” Sylvain doesn’t respond, and Mercedes sighs, pausing to start on the next button. “She said that the Crest System had caused me suffering, and asked if I could see myself helping to change that.” She smiles tightly, her gaze unfocused, “I said no, of course. I couldn’t betray all of you like that.”

“She asked me, too,” Sylvain says quietly. He’s never told anyone that before, and his chest feels lighter for it almost immediately. “She said that what Miklan did should have been stopped. She said that Miklan’s death could have been prevented if there wasn’t a crest system.”

“What did you say?”

Sylvain’s jaw works, “I told her I’d think about it. It sounded nice.”

Mercedes rests her hand on his knee, “It does, doesn’t it?”

Sylvain tries and fails to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Do you wish you had? Joined the Black Eagles?”

Mercedes hums softly and ties off the knot on her button. “I don’t see how it much matters now.”

Sylvain lays down, staring at her ceiling. There’s a crack in one of the boards that he doesn’t remember. Even the monastery is changing around them. “It would have meant we were standing up for something. For what’s right.”

Mercedes sets Dedue’s shirt off to the side and lays down next to him. She takes his hand gently in her smaller one, lacing their fingers together. “It’s not about what’s right, I don’t think.”

Sylvain laughs. “Yeah? What’s it about then?”

She turns her head to the side, meeting his eyes with a small smile. “Being able to live with yourself.”

-

“Do you think we actually have a chance at peace?” Ingrid lowers her lance slightly as she speaks, the determined look in her eyes wavering.

Sylvain shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I think so, yeah. Byleth certainly wants it, and Dimitri and Edelgard both want to please her.”

Ingrid nods, falling out of her defensive posture. Sylvain loves sparring with Ingrid, loves how familiar it feels. Everything with Felix has to be a battle, and as much as Sylvain cares for him, a sparring match is never going to be anything other than a competition. With Ingrid, though, there’s a sense of companionship. Neither of them has to win.

“I wonder if it’ll last. Does Edelgard expect us to kill Rhea? What are we supposed to do about Seteth?”

Sylvain shrugs. “I don’t know. I suspect that’s the kind of thing that will be discussed in peace talks. Honestly? I’d be surprised if Rhea isn’t already dead.”

Ingrid stops from cleaning her lance off and whips around to stare at him. “Sylvain!”

“What?” Sylvain takes a drink of water, his posture unerringly casual next to Ingrid’s. “It’s the smartest move. Damage control for an ‘unfortunate death’ is way easier than convincing Dimitri to agree to an execution.”

“I… guess so.” Ingrid looks defeated all of a sudden, her shoulders slumping. “What do you think is going to happen with Seteth?”

Edelgard wants Seteth dead, probably. Hell, she probably wants everyone associated with the church dead. He can’t say he blames her entirely, if even half of what she says is true. He sighs. “Seteth’s priority is Flayn. He’ll regret Rhea’s passing, I’m sure, and speak out against the peace talks, but if given the chance he’ll take her and run.”

Ingrid scoffs. “You really think he’d abandon us like that?”

Sylvain fixes her with the most scathing look her can manage. “Do I think Seteth, a being that’s been alive for hundred of years, wouldn’t take his family and do anything to keep her safe? Don’t be naive.”

She scowls. “Stop talking to me like that. We’re not five, and I’m not a child.”

“Right, sorry.” He claps Ingrid on the shoulder. “Let’s go another round, yeah? You’ll feel better after you hit me a couple of times.”

Ingrid laughs, her annoyance forgotten. “Sure thing.”

-

The Knight’s Hall has certainly seen better days, but it’s not as bad off as some parts of the monastery. The chandeliers are mostly whole, and the bookshelves on the back wall are only missing a few texts. The training swords and armor held by the practice dummies are long gone, but the benches and couch in front of the fireplace are still there, and just as familiar as they were five years ago.

Sylvain has always liked the knight’s hall. It’s out of the way of everyone else, making it a good place to hide. It’s one of the safer spots on the monastery grounds, as far as he’s concerned. Perhaps even better than its viability as a hiding spot is the fact that the Knight’s Hall is a place meant for action. No one questions him if he hides there for a few hours. They all have better things to be doing.

Still, nothing lasts forever, and a hiding spot that consists of sitting on a couch in front of the fire is a rather weak one, he will admit.

He hears Felix before he sees him. At some point, he gained the completely useless ability to distinguish Felix’s footsteps instantly. If feels almost intimate, and he wishes he could banish the knowledge from his mind.

They’ve been more withdrawn from each other in the past few days, he’ll admit. It’s partially his own doing, but Sylvain is rapidly approaching a point where speaking to Felix feels futile. He’s tired of it, of always being the one to seek him out. Sylvain doesn’t know how much longer he can continue like this, reaching out for Felix only to push him aside.

Maybe they’ve both hurt each other too much. Maybe there’s no future for them as anything but friends.

“Sylvain.” Felix’s voice slices through any walls he’d tried to put up.

Sylvain sighs. He would rather not speak to Felix right now, but this isn’t about what he wants.

Felix hovers behind him, clearly uncomfortable. Sylvain doesn’t move.

“I want to talk.” Felix’s voice is sharp and decisive, cutting through anything Sylvain could have said to try to escape unscathed.

Still, he tries anyway. He glances over his shoulder with a wry smile. “You want to talk? Maybe peace isn’t so far off, if we have one miracle already.”

Felix bristles visibly, his upper lip curling and his shoulders going stiff. “If you’re going to act like an idiot, I’ll leave.”

He wishes he could let him walk away. Sylvain sighs. “I’m always an idiot.”

“Yes.” Sylvain is imagining the slight hint of amusement in Felix’s voice. He must be. “You are.”

Sylvain sinks further into the couch in front of the fireplace, watching the flames instead of paying any attention to Felix.

Or so he hopes.

“Fine.” Felix says. Sylvain can hear the scowl in his voice. “Don’t talk. But you’re going to listen to what I have to say.”

Sylvain shrugs.

Felix sighs heavily, the sound tinged by annoyance. Sylvain is tired of it. He told Felix. He told him about the perfect future that could exist if only Felix would let it, and all he got was brushed off. They don’t want the same things, and if Sylvain wants to avoid Felix for a few days, he will.

“I don’t care if it was a mistake,” Felix says. “If you never meant to kiss me or… any of the rest of it. Stop avoiding me.”

There’s clearly more, but Sylvain can’t stay silent any more. In truth, he’s impressed that he kept quiet this long.

“It wasn’t a mistake.” He stands. He doesn’t face Felix, but he should. Now he’s the coward.

“You don’t have to lie.” Felix sounds so tired. Is it the war that’s done it to him, or is this Sylvain’s fault?

Sylvain turns. Felix’s face, as usual, is drawn up tightly in disapproval. His brow is furrowed and he’s frowning, but Sylvain doesn’t miss the way his hand curls tightly into the fabric of his pants.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Sylvain says. The words feel like they’ve been ripped out of his chest, like they’re the only thing he knows how to say. “When I kissed you five years ago. It felt like the first right thing I’d ever done.”

Felix doesn’t move. Sylvain takes a step closer, his hands raised slightly as if in surrender. “It wasn’t a mistake after that either.” He says, voice tight. “When you kissed me in the cemetery, I wanted to ask you to do it again.”

Felix’s jaw tightens. He looks off to the side, avoiding Sylvain’s gaze, but Sylvain doesn’t halt in his slow approach towards him.

“I was selfish the other day, when we were together. I shouldn’t have done that.” Sylvain rakes a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly and pulling in an attempt to ground himself.

“It wasn’t,” Felix snaps. “Selfish.”

Sylvain laughs, hollow and cold. “Sure it wasn’t. I wanted you so bad. I didn’t care if it was a bad idea.”

“I would have told you if it was.”

Sylvain scoffs. “Your father had just died. I took advantage of you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Felix’s voice turns pointed. “I knew what I was doing. I’m not an idiot.” He looks pissed, so much so that Sylvain contemplates cutting his losses and running.

“Right. Yeah.” If Felix knew what he was doing, maybe it’s not too much to hope for more. Maybe he has a chance. Either way, he’s not going to hide from Felix, but he’s done seeking him out for scraps of affection. “I wanted to do it again. Every time, I’ve just wanted to kiss you again.” He shakes his head, trying to make his scrambled thoughts make some amount of sense. “I don’t know if I get to be in love, if I get to have the sort of future I want.” Sylvain takes a deep breath and looks Felix dead in the eye. “But I’d like to try.”

Felix’s eyes widen slightly. He starts to turn his head, but Sylvain’s hand shoots out before he can stop himself, putting a firm hand on Felix’s chin. He doesn’t force Felix to look at him, hasn’t come to that point yet, but Felix stops at his touch. “Say something,” Sylvain begs, his voice rough with emotion.

Felix has never been one for overwrought confessions. Sylvain should know that by now. Instead, Felix swallows, his eyes darting around the deserted Knight’s Hall. A flash of canines appear as he gnaws at his bottom lip, then seems to come to some sort of decision. He nods once, shortly, and reaches up to knock Sylvain’s hand off his chin. “Stop being a coward.” His hand darts out and grips the front of Sylvain’s shirt roughly, dragging him down into a kiss.

It’s nothing like their previous kisses. Those had been mistakes as they happened. This, though, is different. Felix’s mouth is soft against his, and Sylvain takes a step back despite himself. Felix pushes him against the wall next to the fire and slips his tongue into his mouth. Sylvain makes a soft noise and drops his hands to Felix’s waist, hauling him in close.

When they break apart, Felix has a sharp grin on his face. Sylvain laughs, a little bit dumbstruck, and tucks a strand of hair behind Felix’s ear. “So, your place or mine?”

Felix shakes his head. “Dumbass.” He doesn’t step away.

Sylvain bends down and kisses him again, gentler this time. “Yeah.”

The fire in the hearth pops, and Sylvain remembers that they’re in public, and maybe he should stop thinking about jumping Felix right here and now. 

Felix’s mouth twists. “Yours.”

Sylvain hadn’t thought it would go this far. He nods slowly. “Right. Mine.”

They leave the Knight’s Hall with rushed steps. Sylvain takes Felix’s hand when they step into the sunshine and, for once, Felix doesn’t pull away from him. They manage not to see anyone on the way back to Sylvain’s room, something Sylvain is grateful for. He doesn’t have it in him right now to make small talk. The only thing he can think about is Felix’s hand in his and the feel of Felix’s lips on his skin.

Sylvain opens the door to his bedroom with clumsy fingers and rushes them inside. As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, Felix is on him, pushing him up against the door and curling his fingers into Sylvain’s shirt.

“Say it again.” Felix is so close to him, but Sylvain is loath to break the peace.

“Say what?” Felix is watching him expectantly, and Sylvain’s mind struggles to figure out what exactly he’s asking for. “That it wasn’t a mistake?” Felix doesn’t nod, but his fingers tighten.

Sylvain cups Felix’s cheek in one hand. “It wasn’t a mistake.” Felix exhales, his eyes fluttering at Sylvain’s words. It’s such a beautiful reaction that Sylvain can’t help but say the words again, looping an arm around Felix’s waist and tugging him closer. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

Felix surges upwards and kisses him. There’s no sadness tinging it this time, no poor decisions or hasty regrets in the making. Instead, it’s soft and gentle, more exploratory than anything else.

Sylvain has kissed Felix before, but this feels like a first kiss.

He’d be content to live like this forever, but Felix clearly has other plans, pressing himself flush against Sylvain. One of his hands slips underneath Sylvain’s shirt and Sylvain laughs, pulling back to look down at him.

“I’m supposed to be the handsy one, aren’t I?”

Felix scowls, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up.”

It isn’t hard to listen to such a request. There are other things Sylvain would rather be doing with his mouth anyways. He bends back down to do just that, kissing Felix languidly. Felix’s hand creeps back up his shirt, settling firmly on his waist and holding him there. Sylvain sighs gently into Felix’s mouth, letting Felix take the lead.

He hadn’t thought it would be like this. In his mind, it’s more like last time, and he overwhelms Felix and has some semblance of control over the situation the whole time. Now, though, Felix is breaking apart their kiss and leading him to his bed.

Sylvain’s mouth goes dry as he watches Felix climb onto the bed, falling onto his back. “Well? What do you want?” He props himself on one of his elbows, looking unbearably pleased with himself. It’s like something out of a dream.

Sylvain rests a careful hand on Felix’s calf. “Whatever you want.” The words ring a little hollow, but he covers it up with a smile.

He should give Felix more credit. The smug, pleased look falls off his face, and his eyes narrow. “That’s not what I asked.” Felix sits up, frowning. “Do you not want this?”

“Course I do.” Sylvain bends down to kiss him, but Felix stops him with a firm hand on his chest.

“We don’t have to,” he waves a hand. “You know. If you don’t want to.”

All Sylvain wants is to not ruin this. He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

Felix’s scowl deepens. “Answer the fucking question.”

Sylvain looks off to the side, his jaw tightening. “I don’t… I don’t want it to feel like a bad idea. I want to think this through. Do it right.” Felix is still staring at him with a slightly confused expression, and Sylvain sighs and moves forward, kneeling on the bed in front of Felix. “I don’t want to mess this up.” He reaches out and takes Felix’s hand, laces their fingers together. Felix’s hand is small and warm in his own, and he wants, more than anything, to keep it within his grasp.

“Idiot.” Felix rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to mess this up.”

Sylvain shrugs. He’s messed up most things in his life on purpose. It stands to reason that he’ll fuck this one up too. He might not mean to, but he will.

Felix’s expression softens. “We don’t have to. We can.” He gnaws at his bottom lip in a decidedly unsexy way, then sighs. “It’s getting late anyways. We can talk later.”

It’s an easy out for a more complicated, more difficult conversation, and Sylvain is thankful for it. He nods. Felix, much to his surprise, doesn’t leave. He crawls under the covers, looking at Sylvain expectantly. The room is dark and quiet around them, as if there’s no world outside it. It feels safe. It feels like a new beginning.

Sylvain worms his way under the covers, scooting close to Felix. He smiles tentatively at him. Felix doesn’t smile back, but the corners of his eyes crinkle, and that’s much the same thing.

-

“How do you do it?” Sylvain whispers, later. It’s late in the night now, but neither of them have been able to fall asleep. They’re children again, sitting in a make believe fort telling secrets or hunkered down underneath a table. As the night has stretched on, they’ve migrated closer together. Sylvain’s legs are tangled with Felix’s and there’s only a few inches of space between their heads now. It’s been hours, but every minute that Felix doesn’t leave feels more precious than the one before it.

Felix frowns. “Do what?”

Sylvain traces the curve of Felix’s hip with a hand. “Forgive him.”

“Forgive who? Dimitri?”

Sylvain nods.

Felix is quiet for a long time, and Sylvain thinks that he simply isn’t going to respond at all. When he does speak, his words are slow and halting. “I- What am I forgiving him for?”

Of course. Even in the depths of his anger at Dimitri, Felix has never hated him. He forgets, sometimes, that Felix loves Dimitri in the way that most of them can only dream of loving something. Sylvain sighs and scoots closer to Felix. “Forget it.”

“You’re mad at him?” Felix snaps. “Really? You weren’t mad at him at the academy, refused to acknowledge that I was, but you’re mad now?”

Sylvain sighs. “I don’t know. I’m not mad at him.” Mad is too simple of a word to summarize his feelings about Dimitri. They’re a tangled mess that he can’t even begin to unknot.

“What are you talking about?” Felix’s voice, so much softer only minutes ago, is harsh. Sylvain knows him well enough to be able to read it for what it is: not intentionally cruel, just confused.

Sylvain curls his hand into the blankets pooling over them both. He shouldn’t have brought it up. Why can’t he ever be happy with what he has? Felix is in his bed and intends to stay there. There’s a chance at peace, at seeing Dorothea again and getting to hear her pointed remarks face to face. Ingrid’s face will light up and Dorothea will marvel at her shorn hair, and that bright, unreserved smile will return to Ingrid’s face once more.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sylvain replies. Of course Felix can forgive Dimitri. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised; loving Dimitri is as easy as breathing for Felix.

Felix’s frown deepens, but he reaches out and rests a hand on Sylvain’s cheek. The gesture is clumsy and unpracticed, but it’s there, and that’s enough.

For the first time in a long time, Sylvain sleeps easy.

-

The news comes during a war council meeting. Dimitri sits at the head of the table, Lord Rodrigue’s usual seat empty. Sylvain is next to Felix, as always, and lets himself press his leg against Felix’s under the table. Felix stiffens, his spine going rigid, but doesn’t move away. Sylvain will count it as a victory. Across from him, Mercedes smiles at him, and Sylvain finds himself smiling back and meaning it.

Dimitri clears his throat, and they stop talking amongst themselves to look over at him.

“I have not been a good general, or a good king as of late.” He sets his hands in front of him on the table, looking around and making eye contact with them all individually. Sylvain wonders if that’s the sort of thing that’s taught to future kings, or if Dimitri was born knowing what the most impactful action he could take is.

“I wanted to apologize, from the bottom of my heart, for my actions. You are all dear to me, and I have not acted as such. I hope that you can forgive me, but I understand if you aren’t able to.”

At his side, Felix stiffens. Annette smiles reassuringly at him, then speaks up. “Dimitri, sit back down. You’re our friend, and we’re all just glad that you’re doing better. Of course we forgive you.”

Mercedes and Ashe both murmur their agreement, and after a moment Ingrid does as well. Dimitri relaxes, and takes a seat once more.

“With that out of the way,” he says with a small, hesitant smile. Sylvain is never going to be able to stop seeing him as that little boy he once knew. “Edelgard wrote to me. She wishes to meet to formally discuss a peace treaty.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emperor Edelgard and King Dimitri meet for peace talks at the Tailtean Plains. Sylvain makes plans for the future, and it even sounds like a happy one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> truly i can NOT believe i finished this fic jkdflsa i'm gonna try to have the epilogue up this week, but i don't think it will be super long! i really hope people enjoy this, it has a lot of moments that are really important to me! i have a fic queue a million years long of stuff i want to work on after this, so keep a look out for more from me!!
> 
> as always, thanks so much for reading :)

Even at age fourteen, Sylvain loves visiting the palace in Fhirdiad. The wide, sweeping halls comfort him, as do running through the corridors after the others, playing tag and war and whatever other games they can think of. 

This time, though, is different. Dimitri pulls Sylvain aside after dinner, his small face somehow even more serious than usual. Sylvain worries about Dimitri when he’s not there. They all do, of course, and none so much as Felix, but he worries. Sometimes it seems that Dimitri has no fun at all when they’re not around. Princes probably aren’t supposed to have fun, but Sylvain thinks that most princes aren't half as serious as Dimitri, so it balances out.

“Sylvain. You know about girls, right?” Dimitri’s eyes are so blue and so wide. It’s adorable.

He grins. “Of course! I know everything about girls.”

It’s rare that Sylvain gets to hold something over Dimitri’s head, but at fourteen he knows more about girls than the others can even dream of. He likes being the center of attention, likes getting to brag about first kisses and attention from cute commoners. None of his friends pay anything he says about girls any heed, of course, but he’s long used to that.

Dimitri fiddles with the edge of his cloak. “Right. Well, in that case.”

Sylvain laughs loudly, clapping Dimitri on the back. The crown prince jumps, but then smiles tentatively up at him. “Do you need help with a girl? I didn’t think you had it in you! Come on, what’s her name?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “That’s not important. She’s leaving soon. Her family is moving to the Empire.”

The Empire. That’s a shame. But then again, it’s not like Dimitri has any say over who he’s going to marry. “Tough luck. But if she’s already leaving, what do you need my help with?”

“I… I want to get her something.” Dimitri clears his throat, a habit he’s picked up from his father. It doesn’t make him seem at all manly or kingly, but it does make Sylvain smile, so he’s in no hurry to tell Dimitri that. “To remember me by.”

Sweet little Dimitri. Even at age eleven, he’s already turning into such a gentleman. “Aww, look at you go! And you came to me for help? Smart man.” Sylvain taps a finger to his chin, pretending to mull things over. “Well, girls like jewelry. You’re a prince, you can certainly afford something pretty.”

Dimitri nods, touching the brooch on his cape absent-mindedly. “I was thinking of getting her a dagger.”

Sylvain can’t help it: he bursts out laughing. “A dagger? Really, Dimitri? That’s not romantic at all!”

Dimitri’s face falls, and Sylvain immediately feels like a dick. “You don’t think so? I thought for sure she’d like it.” His voice sounds so small, nothing like the prince he is.

“You know her better than me.” Sylvain says, trying to mollify Dimitri. “That just seems a little violent. Think of me when you’re killing people? Not exactly the peak of romance.”

“It’s not about being violent.” Dimitri’s lower lip juts out. In all the years that Sylvain has known him, he’s never been able to mask his disappointment well. At least he’s stopped stomping his foot. Only Felix does that now. “It’s about cutting a path for her future.”

Exactly what kind of girl is this? Sylvain laughs again. “Sure thing, pal. If that’s what you think.”

Dimitri nods, decisively. “It is. It’s what she needs.”

Sylvain squeezes Dimitri’s shoulder and leaves. Him and Dimitri love things different, he thinks. Sylvain can’t even begin to understand what he himself needs, much less another person. How does Dimitri do it?

-

The day before a major movement of the troops, there’s a lull sometime in the night. There are still things that need to be completed, of course, but at this point, only the truly high priority jobs are left. Sylvain is lucky enough to not be saddled with any of those, and so instead he’s sequestered away in bed with Felix.

“Well?” Sylvain traces a gentle thumb over Felix’s mouth, pressing it against his lips.

Felix’s tongue darts out to lick at his finger. His eyes narrow. “Is now really the time?”

Felix has a point, after all. They leave for the Tailtean Plains in the morning, and even though peace seems likely, there’s always a chance that it could all fall apart. “We could die,” Sylvain says, withdrawing his hand and resting it instead on Felix’s upper thigh. “And if we do, I want to be able to remember you like this.”

“You’re a fool,” Felix says easily, but Sylvain can hear the fondness in it.

“Your fool,” Sylvain replies, squeezing Felix’s leg.

Felix’s mouth curves upward in a small, crooked smile. It’s one of Sylvain’s favorite looks on him, if he’s being honest, and there’s nothing else to be done but to lean forward and kiss him. Despite his earlier teasing, at Sylvain’s touch Felix melts, going pliant under him and looping his arms around his neck.

“Okay,” Felix says when they finally break apart. “But you’re not fucking me. I don’t want to be sore tomorrow.”

“Aw, Felix.” Sylvain presses a kiss to Felix’s forehead. “You can just say that you want to fuck me. I don’t need all the pomp and circumstance.”

Felix flushes, cutting his eyes away from Sylvain and fixing them on the bedspread instead. “Whore.”

Sylvain bursts into laughter, leaning forward and pressing another kiss against Felix’s lips. “Sure, babe. Whatever you want.”

Felix chews on his bottom lip, his gaze darting back up to meet Sylvain’s momentarily. “What do you want?”

Someday, Felix is going to be the death of him. It drives him to ruin every time Felix asks him that particular question. There’s an implicit level of care in the question that Sylvain is unused to, and it leaves his head reeling and his throat dry. “You.”

Felix's smile turns teasing, and he rests a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “That’s not an answer. What do you want?”

He wants Felix to stop asking him what he wants and to just fuck him already. Sylvain shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

“Sylvain.” Felix’s voice is sharp, authoritative. “Stop avoiding the question.”

Sylvain drags his gaze away from his lap and to Felix’s face. “I want you to fuck me,” he says quietly. “Remind me that I’m yours.”

Felix’s expression softens, and he leans forward to kiss him. Sylvain sighs into his mouth, letting Felix’s wandering hands grasp at his chest. “Not mine,” Felix murmurs. “Yours.”

It’s soft, more gentle than they normally are. But then again, tomorrow could be a trap. A battle waiting to happen. He can hardly besmirch Felix for wanting to keep the one consistently good thing in their lives at the moment happy and sweet. It’s a change from how bossy and demanding Felix normally is, but Sylvain finds he doesn’t mind.

He goes boneless against Felix, lets himself be pushed down flat on his back. Felix swings a leg over him, straddling his hips in one smooth movement. His weight is comfortable, safe, and Sylvain relaxes into the mattress. Normally, he dislikes feeling trapped like this, dislikes the idea that he couldn’t get away if he wanted. But with Felix, all it does is remind him that he’s here, that he’s alive and present in his own skin.

Felix loves him. He’s not using him, and that makes all the difference.

They still haven’t said it, not directly. Sylvain has alluded to it, and so has Felix, but he’s never said the words out loud before, has never looked Felix in the eye and told him that he loves him.

Felix bends down to mouth at his neck. Sylvain’s hands fly up to grab his hips of their own accord. “Felix.”

“Hmm?” Felix’s mouth is at the junction of his neck and his shoulder, and Sylvain throws his head back to give him better access. His tongue is hot and insistent as it soothes a bite mark, and the idea of walking around with Felix’s hickeys on him is intoxicating. It’s like what he said earlier, about wanting Felix to remind him that he’s his.

“Feels good,” Sylvain says. “I like it when you touch me.”

“I know.” Felix sounds amused. Not bored or annoyed, just a little full of himself. “Is that all you want me to do?”

His breath is hot against Sylvain’s skin. As he speaks, he rolls his hips down to grind against Sylvain’s burgeoning erection. Sylvain makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and he can feel Felix’s smile into his skin at the sound. “You know what I want.”

Felix sits back up, smirking down at him. “Yeah, I do.” His gaze lingers on the hickey he’s surely left on Sylvain’s neck. “Well? Shirt off.”

Sylvain scrambles to comply, his fingers struggling to undo the buttons while Felix watches dispassionately. Finally, he gets the offending garment off, sitting up and tossing it to the floor. Felix’s hands come to slide over his chest, one of his nails catching on a nipple. Sylvain hisses, and Felix bends down, kissing his pec and then laving his tongue over the offended skin.

Sylvain moans, one hand coming up to tangle in Felix’s hair and hold his head close to Felix’s chest. “Your mouth is so perfect,” he says, his eyes drifting closed. 

Felix pulls back with a wet pop. “Sap.”

Sylvain brings a hand up to cradle Felix’s cheek. “Yeah. Your sap.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint dusting of pink gracing his cheeks. “Whatever.” Still, he turns his face into the hand at his cheek and presses a kiss to Sylvain’s palm.

Sylvain’s smile grows, and he hooks his free hand on the bottom edge of Felix’s shirt. “Your turn.”

Felix sighs. “Fine.” He pulls his shirt up and over his head in one swift motion, leaving himself exposed to the open air. He shudders, and Sylvain lets himself drink in the sight of him. Felix always takes his breath away, but his favorite view of him is like this, shirtless and above him.

Sylvain traces a scar on Felix’s side with hesitant fingers, remembering the battle that it had happened in. He barely remembers where any of the marks on his own body came from, but every single scar on Felix’s body is branded into his memory. He knows them all; the tangled one around his ribcage, the shaky line on his calf from a dagger, the star-shaped marking an arrow left in his shoulder. He loves them, each and every one. They’re proof that he’s survived, and that he’s going to keep surviving.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Felix murmurs, bending down to capture Sylvain’s lips once more.

Sylvain’s eyes drift closed at the firm press of Felix’s lips. He could drown in Felix’s mouth, could keep kissing him forever. Felix’s tongue curls into his mouth, warm and full of intent, and Sylvain brings his hands up to wrap around his waist and hold him closer.

When they part, they’re both breathing heavily, and Sylvain surges upwards to kiss him again. Felix stops him though, with a firm palm to his chest. “Be good.”

Sylvain lets a frankly embarrassing whimper at Felix’s words. As soon as Felix had learned how far a little bit of praise went, he’d been a goner.

Felix smirks. “There you go.” He bends down and kisses Sylvain’s chest, right above his heart, before standing and hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of Sylvain’s pants. Sylvain nods his assent furiously, and Felix undoes his belt with practiced ease. It’s familiar, when Felix helps him shed his pants and settles between his spread legs, pressing a kiss to his stomach as he does so.

Sylvain arches his back off the mattress, wrapping a leg around Felix and trying to drag him closer. “Hurry up.”

Felix laughs. “Eager, huh?”

Sylvain nods and reaches out with a hand, tangling his fingers with Felix’s. “Yeah. Always eager for you.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but reaches down to squeeze his erection nonetheless. Sylvain moans, thrusting his hips upward into the touch. The slight curve of Felix’s smile widens, and he skates a hand up the inside of Sylvain’s thigh. He’s always content to let Felix have his way with him, but he doesn’t want to draw this out. He wants Felix.

“You gonna do anything?” He taunts. “Or are you just gonna look at me?”

“You’re not going to goad me into touching you,” Felix says, but he leans down to mouth at his erection through his underclothes anyways.

Sylvain gasps, throwing his head back and squirming. Felix’s mouth is hot and wet, even through the fabric, and he wants more. “Stop teasing,” he says, an edge of desperation already creeping into his voice.

“I thought you were going to be good.” Felix sounds bored, and fuck if that doesn’t send another spike of arousal through him.

“I am,” Sylvain’s voice is breathless, strained. He wants to be good for Felix more than he’s ever wanted anything.

Felix smiles and presses a kiss to the skin just above his waistband. “Yeah, you are.”

Sylvain whines, tugging lightly at Felix’s hair. “Fe.”

“I know.” Felix runs a soothing hand down his leg. The touch settles Sylvain, and he relaxes more fully into the mattress. “Lemme grab stuff, alright?” He kisses Sylvain’s stomach again, then stands, heading over to the bedside table and rummaging through the drawers. When he returns, he’s holding a small bottle of oil. Felix smiles down at him and strips, then carefully pulls Sylvain’s underwear off.

His erection springs free and Felix’s eyes follow it, a smirk still firmly situated on his face. “You’re so hard already,” he murmurs, looking unreasonably pleased. “It doesn’t take much for you, huh?”

“Only for you,” Sylvain pants. He feels wound even tighter than normal, like one touch from Felix will shatter him.

Felix pulls his own underwear off and then kneels back between his legs, hoisting one leg up and over his shoulder. “I want to look at you,” he says. “Want to see your face.”

Such words from Felix, of all people, who hates any attempt at eye contact, make Sylvain swoon. “Yeah, okay. Please.”

“Anything for you,” Felix says, finally, finally, putting a hand on his erection and pumping it slowly. Sylvain moans, bucking up into Felix’s grip.

As soon as he moves, Felix stops. “Don’t move. Be patient.”

“I don’t want to be,” Sylvain protests. “Want you now.”

Felix scoffs, but he takes the top off of the bottle of oil, so Sylvain feels like he’s won this time. Felix has barely touched him, but the look on his face is enough to send heat pooling in Sylvain’s gut. It’s not just that he finds Felix hot; it’s the determination and the wholehearted focus present in his gaze. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Someday,” Felix says slowly, “I’ll gag you. Just to get you to stop talking when I’m trying to take care of you.”

Sylvain would let Felix do anything to him. If Felix told him to stay and not move until he came back, he’d lay on their bed for hours in wait. “Yeah,” Sylvain whimpers. “Want that.”

“Of course you do,” Felix replies. “You’d let me do whatever I want, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain’s voice cracks, and he rolls his hips upwards to try to bring Felix’s attention back to more pressing matters.

“Another time,” Felix promises. 

He turns the bottle of oil upside down and dribbles some onto his fingers, reaching forward and gently tracing his rim with a hesitant finger. He pushes in slowly, and Sylvain gasps at the intrusion. It’s been a bit, and the stretch is, as always, more overwhelming than he remembers. Felix's fingers are slimmer than his, and it feels like his single digit is reaching far deeper into Sylvain than he could ever do on his own. 

Felix pushes another finger in not long after, and Sylvain shudders, his body finally relaxing. “That’s good,” he murmurs, pushing back against Felix’s fingers. His worries about tomorrow’s peace talks feel impossibly far away right now, with Felix’s fingers crooking inside of him and catching on the edge of the spot that sends sparks shooting down his spine.

Felix finally adds a third finger in, and Sylvain moans at the sensation of being filled. “Come on, hurry up.” He urges, his voice already strained. “Want you inside.”

Felix’s breath catches. “Yeah. Me too.” 

He pulls his fingers out, wiping them on Sylvain’s thigh before pouring more oil onto his hands and coating himself liberally. Finally, he presses the blunt head of his cock against Sylvain’s hole. Felix pushes in slowly, Sylvain scrabbling at the sheets at the feeling of him. “Don’t stop,” he begs. “Please.”

Felix finally bottoms out, and Sylvain groans. It’s so much, compared to the fingers that had just been inside of him, but it’s good. It feels almost as though he’d been made for this. “Please,” Sylvain says again.

“I’ve got you,” Felix murmurs, lifting up one of his legs and setting it over his shoulder.

He starts moving in earnest, his hips snapping forward as he works into a rhythm. Sylvain arches into it, letting a loud cry tumble out of his mouth at the sensation. The feel of Felix inside of him is addictive, perfectly made to slot into him.

Felix hits his prostate, and Sylvain moans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut at the pleasure racing through his body. Already he feels a rush of heat pooling in his groin, the arousal only intensified by the noises Felix’s is making.

“You feel so good,” Felix murmurs, snapping his hips forward even harder. “You’re so good for me Sylvain, so good.”

Sylvain lets out a cry that’s more sob than anything else, shuddering at the praise. “Felix, please,” he says, his voice cracking pitifully. “Please.”

“I’m here,” Felix says, reaching down between them and taking one of Sylvain’s hands.

The sentimentality is almost more overwhelming than the sex. Felix is relentless, pounding into him like it’s his only mission in life. Another cry tumbles from Sylvain’s mouth, and he holds onto Felix’s hand like the lifeline that it is.

Sylvain’s cries only get louder in volume as Felix continues, until finally Felix wraps a hand around his length and strokes him. It’s not the best handjob he’s ever gotten, and Felix’s thrusts are growing more and more erratic as he continues. Still, it’s Felix’s hand, and that’s what matters.

Sylvain comes with a cry, clenching tight around Felix and hooking his unoccupied leg behind Felix and urging him even closer. Felix follows not long after, a broken moan tumbling from his lips as he slumps over Sylvain.

After, once they’ve cleaned up, Felix nestles into Sylvain’s side, pressing his face into his neck. Sylvain slides a leg between Felix’s and throws an arm around his waist, dropping a kiss to the top of his head as he does so. “Night,” he mumbles, his eyes already drifting closed.

“Night,” Felix whispers. He’s silent for a long moment, and Sylvain thinks that he’s fallen asleep already. He’s heading that way himself when Felix speaks. “Sylvain?”

“Mm?”

“I hope the peace talks go well.” Felix sounds quiet, almost ashamed.

Sylvain tightens his grip on Felix. “Yeah, me too.” When sleep finally takes him, he dreams of summers in Faerghus, Felix’s laughter on the breeze.

-

As they approach the center of the battlefield, where Edelgard and her generals await, Sylvain watches Dimitri’s spine stiffen. He knows that Dimitri wants this to work out, but still, there’s tension written in every line of his body. _Areadbhar_ is back in the tent, a gesture of his willingness to consider peace. It seemed unthinkable ages ago, but now, it seems like there may be a chance after all.

“Dimitri.” Edelgard’s voice is cool, unreadable. She doesn’t address Dedue or Sylvain.

“Edelgard.” Dimitri’s gaze drifts over to Byleth, standing at Edelgard’s side. “Professor.”

Edelgard’s hair is down, for once. Her headdress she’s been sporting for the last five years is nowhere in sight. Instead, her long, white hair hangs loose down to the small of her back. It’s a good look on her. He would have expected it to make her look softer, or weaker, but instead it just reminds him of how young they all are. For the first time in a while, Sylvain feels a rush of bitterness towards his brother. Miklan never had to deal with a war.

Although, Miklan was the same age as Sylvain is now when he died. If peace really does take hold, then he’ll outlive his brother, just as Felix has.

Byleth is at Edelgard’s side. The skin around her eyes crinkles slightly, but she makes no move towards them. “Dimitri. I’ve missed you.”

The harsh line of Dimitri’s shoulders grows even more rigid. “Have you?”

Byleth nods smoothly, swaying forward slightly. “Yes. We will speak later. Alone.” Her eyes flit over to Sylvain, then to all of the Blue Lions. “I want to speak with all of you.”

Whereas Dimitri looks to be coiled so tight he may snap at any moment, Dedue seems almost relaxed. He certainly looks more at ease than anyone else, and he smiles openly at Byleth. 

“I’m sure,” Edelgard says. “We can speak of peace and then confer with our generals. Talks can conclude after.”

“This war has taken so much from us.” Edelgard’s mouth twists. “We were friends once, Dimitri. A long time ago. We could be friends again.”

“I don’t know how I can be expected to forgive your crimes.” Dimitri’s voice is a low rumble.

“All of my family is dead.” Edelgard is a full foot shorter than Dimitri, but she somehow still looms over him. Her presence is weaponized; Sylvain can’t look away from her. “My siblings died terrible, lonely deaths.” She meets Dimitri’s gaze, tilting her chin up slightly. “All but one.”

“You knew?” Sylvain can barely hear Dimitri, and he’s suddenly hit by a rush of emotion at the sound of his voice. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be listening in on this.

Edelgard nods. “Byleth told me.”

Dimitri lets out a shuddering breath. “El, I can’t hand you the throne. Your future lies steeped in blood. I cannot abide such things.”

Edelgard’s mouth twists. “I feared you would say such things.”

Sylvain takes a slightly hesitant step back. Dimitri notices, and looks over at him with a sharp look. “I suppose this is better served to a private conversation.”

Sylvain nods. Edelgard and Dimitri need time alone, in his mind, possibly with the Professor as well. “We can reconvene for a full talk later. We have the time.”

“I suppose so,” Edelgard replies.

Sylvain slinks off with the rest of the Blue Lions. Felix is already off to the side, alone and with a hand on his sword hilt. The Aegis shield is strapped to his back, and his amber eyes are narrowed, suspiciously eyeing up everyone around them, even their allies.

Sylvain steps closer to him than he normally would have, but then again, Felix had kissed him again before they’d left. It’s still new, still something secret and fragile that fits in his cupped hands. He’s expecting it to grow though, this feeling between the two of them.

“They’re too soft.” Felix presses their shoulders together.

“For what, wanting peace?” Sylvain laughs. “C’mon, even you don't want this war to drag out for much longer. Wouldn’t you rather we be at peace?”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Felix says, voice tight.

“Sure it does.” Sylvain shades his eye and looks out over the Tailtean Plains. There’s clouds gathering up ahead; he hopes it’s not an omen. “I care about what you want.” He doesn’t look at Felix when he says it. As with all things, it’s easier when you don’t look them in the eyes.

“What’s going to be left then? After?” Felix takes his hand off of his sword. That in and of itself is a victory.

Sylvain glances down at him, then looks away just as quickly. If he stares too long, he’ll be ruined for anything else. “I don’t know. There’ll be us.”

“How do you know?” Felix asks softly. “That that’s enough?”

Sylvain takes his hand. “I don’t. But I think it’ll have to be.”

Felix squeezes his hand. “Fine. I guess that will do.”

Sylvain turns, smiling warmly at Felix. He’s silhouetted in the dying sunlight, the storm clouds hanging directly over both their heads. Every time Sylvain sees him, he looks less like a creature made for war and more like one made for coming home to.

Sylvain likes him better this way.

“I think Dimitri and Edelgard are going to talk for a while,” he says. “Let’s go sit with the others.”

Felix shifts his weight from one foot to another, following Sylvain’s gaze to Mercedes, Ashe, and Annette. “I don’t want to sit around and talk about a future that might not even come to pass.”

He knows Felix well enough by now to know that sentence for what it is. Sylvain steps closer and brushes Felix’s bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah. We can stay here.” Felix’s gaze darts away. A muscle in his jaw jumps, but he nods. “If you want.”

It’s almost cute, Felix’s refusal to ask for what he wants. Sylvain smiles. “I do. C’mon, let’s sit.”

Felix grumbles, but lets Sylvain pull him down onto the ground and sit next to him. The sky above them is overcast, but it’s of no matter. Any storms coming will pass, and with them happier days will come. They have to.

-

Sylvain is standing off to the side with Lady when Byleth finds him. He’d needed - not a distraction, this is important, he shouldn’t look away from it - but a moment to himself. Lady is, as usual, ignoring him, more interested in chomping away at the grass than getting any attention. Still, it’s nice to watch her. As a boy, he used to run out to the barn when things got to be too much at home. Even now, the sounds of horses munching at hay calms him down faster than anything else.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, patting her shoulder.

“I see you have the same horse.” Byleth’s voice comes from seemingly nowhere, but Sylvain is used to being snuck up on.

He turns, flashing her an easy smile and praying that she’ll leave. “ ‘Course. I’ve never had a better mount than Lady.”

“The only steady relationship you’ll ever have,” Byleth replies, quoting words he used to utter often as a younger man.

Sylvain laughs, insincere and short. “Ha. Right.” The reminder at his own words makes his stomach turn. He’s cared about the wrong things for so long.

“I’m glad she still lives,” Byleth continues. 

Lady lifts her head and pins her ears back at Byleth, going back to eating. Sylvain laughs. She is a good horse, even if he forgets sometimes. “Sure you are.”

“I am.” Byleth insists. “I know you care for her a great deal.”

Sylvain looks down at Lady, at her thick, strong legs and the frankly comically oversized hooves at the end of them. She’s not a pretty horse, like Ashe’s little mare or Ingrid’s Mietta, but she’s his, and he loves her. He shrugs. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Yes, you have.” Byleth’s tone is so knowing that Sylvain wonders what it is they’re really talking about. Everything is always so tangled with her. “How are you holding up?”

Byleth isn’t his professor anymore. He doesn’t owe her anything. Sylvain’s smile widens. “Just peachy. Why, miss me?” He laughs, cocking a hip and letting his gaze linger on Byleth. “I hate to say it, Professor, but I’m afraid I’m occupied with other matters. As stunning as you are.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Of course.”

He sighs. “What do you really want?”

Byleth extends a hand towards Lady and makes a small clicking noise. Animals tend to flock to Byleth - some of the cats at the monastery used to follow her around, and a few of the dogs had taken to sleeping outside of her quarters. Lady, though, is utterly reprehensible through and through, and snaps at Byleth’s outstretched fingers, just barely missing them. Sylvain smiles.

“I want there to be peace,” Byleth says, still looking at Lady. “I want El to sleep easy at night. I want Dimitri to forgive himself.”

El, huh? That’s new. “Sure.” Sylvain strokes a hand down Lady’s ribcage, tracing the barely visible bones there. “I want that too.” Probably. “But what are you talking to me for?”

“I don’t know.” Byleth looks up, towards the dark grey clouds slowly gathering. “I missed all of you.”

Sylvain tenses. “Yeah, we missed you too. Shoulda thought about that before joining the Empire, huh?” He means it to sound like a joke, but instead it’s sharp, pointed.

Maybe Felix is starting to rub off on him.

Byleth is quiet for a long moment. “Maybe so.” She touches a hand to her hair, and Sylvain feels an irrational flash of annoyance at the gesture. She’s changed so much that even her mannerisms are different. Despite the fact that Byleth looks identical as she did the day they met, she’s changing. They both are. “I don’t regret it. It’s better this way.”

Sylvain’s mouth twists. “Yeah. I’m sure it is.”

Byleth steps closer, holding out a hand to him, palm up. “Things aren’t the same as they were, but I think they’ll be better. Give it time.”

Time is a luxury Sylvain hadn’t thought he’d have. Hadn’t thought any of them would have. “Sure. Why not?”

“Why not,” Byleth echoes, a faint smile on her face. She lowers her hand back to her side. “I’m going to go speak with the others, but we’ll talk again, yes?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She’s gone, and Sylvain is left alone with Lady once more. He sighs, leaning against the mare and resting an arm on her back. She raises her head, turning to look at him, then snorts and goes back to eating grass.

He smiles. “I think war’s mellowed you out a little, huh?”

Lady, being a horse, of course doesn’t reply. Still, it’s comforting to stand with her and lean against her. As if in response to his thoughts, she lifts her head, turning and moving to face him.

“Hey, you.” He mumbles, stroking the soft skin of her nose.

Lady presses her head against his stomach, the flat of her nose pressed firmly against him. It’s the most affection he can ever remember her showing him, and he feels as though he might choke on it. He drops a kiss to her poll, tangling a hand in his mane and resting his chin on the top of her head.

It feels fragile, like it could break at any moment. Sylvain sighs, and Lady noses more firmly against him. It’s a kindness she’s never shown him before, and he lets his eyes drift closed.

“You’re a good horse,” he says finally. “We’re both gonna make it out of this alive.”

Lady licks and chews as if she understands what he’s saying, and he smiles, resting a hand on the bottom of her jaw and letting himself relax against the mare. It’s going to be fine.

-

Dimitri returns from his private talks with Edelgard with a grim expression. At his side, Dedue’s face is unreadable. Ashe stands and walks over to Deude. “How did it go?”

Dimitri sighs and sits down heavily on the bench. It’s not their normal war camp, but it’s still rather comfortable, even if it’s smaller than normal. “She gave me her terms for an end to any further acts of aggression.” 

“They are not what we expected.” Dedue sits down, resting a hand on Ashe’s knee.

“No.,” Dimitri agrees. “They are certainly not.”

Felix shoots a glance at Sylvain. He shrugs. “Don’t keep us waiting,” Felix says. “Spit it out.”

“She wants me to abdicate the throne for a short time and move to Enbarr.”

“What?” Felix jumps to his feet, his sword already drawn. “What in the Goddess’s name is she thinking! There’s no way you’re going to do that. It’s unthinkable. You can’t.”

Sylvain can’t remember the last time he saw Felix this worked up. He looks about ready to walk over to the Empire camp and kill Edelgard himself, peace talks be damned. For all that Felix claims to hate Dimitri, he’s certainly willing to protect his honor at all costs.

“There’s more,” Dimitri says, voice low. He’s ostensibly telling all of them, but he’s only looking at Felix. “She wants Dedue to take over as regent and smooth out international relations whilst I’m in Enbarr.”

“What would you even be doing in Enbarr?” Felix snaps. “Sitting around, waiting for her to poison you? You can’t.”

“She’s the only family I have left,” Dimitri replies. It’s obvious he’s trying to soothe Felix, although his success is yet to be seen. “I’d work with her to develop Enbarr’s government. She says she wants to step down from the throne once Solon and Those Who Slither in the Dark are dead. At that time, Dedue will abdicate the throne as well, and I’ll resume my rightful place as king.”

Everyone is staring awestruck at Dimitri, waiting to see what his reaction will be, but Ashe and Dedue are talking quietly to each other. Sylvain’s gaze flits over to Dedue, taking in his serene expression and the soft, hesitant curl of his mouth.

Dedue thinks it’s a good idea.

And it is, as much as Sylvain hates to admit it. No matter what he thinks of himself, one of the only things he’s managed to stay during the war is loyal to the Kingdom. Even on his darkest days, he’s never seriously considered defecting to the Empire.

“It’s smart,” Sylvain says quietly.

Felix whirls around, his sword still poised and ready for an attack. He doesn’t point it at Sylvain, but there’s a look in his eyes that says he’s dangerous right now. “What?” He sounds like pure venom.

“It’s a good idea.” Sylvain doesn’t look at Felix when he says it, looks instead towards Dedue. “It’ll give the people of Duscur something to believe in, and the Empire throwing its full weight behind Dedue will be valuable. It won’t be forever, just for a few years.”

Dedue nods, nearly imperceptibly.

“It’ll be good for you to be away from the Kingdom for a little bit, Your Highness,” he continues. “You can help get revenge against the people who caused the Tragedy.”

“Yes, those were my thoughts as well.” Dimitri ducks his head, looking suddenly more boyish than he has in years. “It’s difficult to think about leaving the Kingdom behind, even for a short period of time.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. “It’s as though it’s a betrayal of some sort to my father.” His voice softens. “Or to Glenn.”

“That’s stupid.” Felix lowers his sword. “If we live our lives by the ideals that killed them, we may as well be dead.” He sheathes his sword, although he keeps a tight grip on the hilt, his knuckles turning white.

Dimitri’s head snaps up. “Do you think so?”

Felix tilts his chin up, looking haughty. “If you keep stringing gravestones around your neck, they’ll drag you down as well.”

The faintest trace of a smile crosses Dimitri’s face. “I see.”

Felix nods once, sharply, and then turns and stalks off. Annette makes a little shooing motion at Sylvain and he chuckles, before walking off and following Felix out of the tent. It’s funny - now that he’s thinking about it, it’s always been like this. Felix storms off, to cry or to sulk or to stew, and Sylvain runs after him, ready to do anything in his power to fix it. It was like that as a child, and it’ll be like that until the day they die.

This time, at least, he hasn’t gone far. Felix is sitting at the edge of the river, his back to Sylvain. He doesn’t turn when he approaches, and Sylvain sits down next to him, waiting. As a little kid, Sylvain used to be unable to sit in silence, always talking and filling any empty spaces. Now, though, he can wait. Give Felix a moment to breathe.

It pays off. Eventually, Felix makes an annoyed, frustrated sound and shoves his face into Sylvain’s shoulder. He doesn’t speak, and Sylvain instead slings an arm around his shoulder and holds him close. “Don’t touch me,” Felix says, but he doesn’t move away. Still, Sylvain starts to pull his arm off, but Felix makes another frustrated noise.

“What do you want?” Sylvain asks, trying his best not to sound frustrated.

Felix doesn’t reply, instead turning his head even further into Sylvain. Only his hair is visible, and Sylvain finds his hand coming up to stroke gentle fingers through the end of his ponytail. “I’ve got you,” Sylvain murmurs. It’s reminiscent of their time as children, and that alone fills him with an unbridled feeling of tenderness.

“He shouldn’t step down,” Felix says at last. “It’s the wrong thing to do.”

“Is it wrong?” Sylvain winds his fingers through the ends of Felix’s hair. “Or is it just not what you want?”

“Shut up,” Felix snaps. It’s clear he takes a moment to think about Sylvain’s words though, for he lifts his head after a few minutes. “I’m not Glenn.”

“I know that.”

Felix’s jaw tightens and his eyes dart off to the side. “I can’t help thinking that if Dimitri doesn’t take the throne, then he died for nothing. And so did my father.”

“They didn’t die for Dimitri to be king,” Sylvain says, resting a hand on Felix’s cheek. “They died so he could live. This would be continuing that legacy.” Felix still doesn’t reply, and so Sylvain gathers his courage and leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. “I know you don’t believe in legacies, but you believe in Dimitri.” He swallows. “Things between Dimitri and I are still… complicated, right now, but I don’t think he’s ready to be king.”

Here’s hoping that saying that isn’t enough to ruin whatever this burgeoning thing between him and Felix is. Felix doesn’t move away from him, just lets out a shuddering breath. “He’ll be a good king.”

“He will be,” Sylvain says confidently. “But he needs time.” It was barely three months ago when Dimitri was telling them all that he would use them until the flesh fell from their bones. No matter how much better he’s doing now, he needs more time.

Sylvain can feel the tension emanating off of Felix, and he wraps his arms around his torso. Felix lets out another aggravated sigh, then relaxes into his hold. “I don’t like it.”

Sylvain laughs, short and amused. “I know.”

“He’s never going to be the same, is he?” Felix doesn’t sound sad, merely resigned. Sylvain wishes he could disagree, but he’s trying not to lie to Felix. He deserves that much, at the very least.

“None of us are,” Sylvain replies. Felix makes a muffled noise into his shoulder, and Sylvain bites back a smile. It’s cute, seeing Felix all petulant like this. The war has dragged on for so long that he’s started to forget what it was like before, when Felix wasn’t so twisted up and angry all the time. Although, now that he thinks about it in earnest, Felix has been angry for a very long while.

“We should go sit with the others,” Sylvain says.

Felix doesn’t move, instead giving a small shake of his head.

Above them, the storm clouds still linger, and a rumble of thunder sweeps across the battlefield. Storms in Faerghus are nothing like the storms the monastery occasionally gets. They’re colder, more viscous. The wind bites harder, and even the rain seems to fall with more force.

Faerghus is not a country that has taken well to being settled.

Sylvain sighs. “Fine. We can stay here.” He’s trying to sound annoyed, despite the fact that seeing Felix alone in this state feels almost more intimate than anything physical they’ve done with each other. He knows as soon as they head back to the others, any visible signs of softness in Felix will vanish, replaced only by a brittle anger.

Felix shifts in his arms, lifting his head to glare at Sylvain. “You don’t have to sound so pleased.”

And really, with Felix in his arms and sharp amber eyes looking up at him, what can Sylvain be expected to do but lean down and kiss him? His lips brush against Felix’s, soft and unhurried. They’re on a battlefield, but there is no war on the Tailtean Plains. Instead, there is only the sound of thunder and this:

Felix’s lips on his, a soft and gentle hum escaping from the back of Felix’s throat. Felix’s hands, reaching up and around his neck. The circle of Sylvain’s arms around Felix loosen, and when he finally pulls away, his heartbeat is loud in his ears, and there’s a slightly dazed look on Felix’s face.

“You’re lucky we’re in public,” Sylvain says, bringing a hand up to rest on Felix’s cheek. “Otherwise I don’t think I would be able to resist you.”

Felix turns his face to the side, pressing his lips to the inside of Sylvian’s palm. Sylvain flushes, and he smiles. “We really should go back. I don’t want to be caught in the rain.”

Slowly, Felix stands. “No. I suppose not.”

Another roll of thunder. Sylvain gets to his feet, and then extends a hand towards Felix. “We’ll get through this. All of us will. Even Dimitri.” It doesn’t feel real, that they’re walking back to a country that’s fast-approaching peace.

Felix takes his hand, his fingers slowly curling around Sylvain’s. It’s hesitant, and cautious, but it’s enough. Felix is enough. “Yeah. I guess so.”


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months after the war ends, they're all settled into their routines. Still, the regular and ordinary is still exciting, and Sylvain has something to tell Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we made it! i can't believe this fic ended up being so long, and i can't believe so many people read it! i had a lot of fun with it, and really really hope people enjoyed it! i might return to this au at some point in the future and write a couple one-shots, so keep an eye on the series for those!
> 
> i hope you liked it, and thanks so much for reading :)

If asked to pinpoint the moment he started describing his feelings for Felix with ‘love,’ Sylvain wouldn’t know where to start. He could say that he’s loved Felix his whole life, but he wasn’t aware for most of it. It’s a tangled knot of a puzzle, one with no clear answer.

Still, in the months after the war ends, Sylvain finds himself dwelling on it.

Claude surrenders control of the Leicester Alliance. He drafts a peace treaty with Almyra and sends it off to Edelgard and Dedue, and no one is surprised when it all comes to a peaceful end. It feels almost too good to be true, but Sylvain isn’t one to complain.

He thinks they’re all due a little happiness, in the end.

It’s the second Thursday of the month, which means that Sylvain is leaving to visit Felix any minute now. They’ve fallen into a routine, since the war ended. Sylvan wishes they could see each other more often, but he’s busy making as many trips to Fhirdiad as he can. Felix has his hands full governing the Fraldarius lands. Even though Sylvain resents his father in every sense of the word, it’s freeing, to be able to visit Felix consistently.

Sylvain hums under his breath as he heads out, Lady picking up a brisk trot as they make their way down the familiar route to Fraldarius territory. She’s still a terror in the field, but she no longer tries to run away from him when he goes to catch her. It’s progress.

By the time he reaches Felix’s estate, it’s late in the afternoon. The sunset stretches blindingly gold across the sky, and he drops Lady off at the stables with a grin fixed firmly on his face. Sylvain makes his way through the familiar halls of the building, stopping in front of Felix’s door.

Felix used to greet him at the gates every time, but he’s busy enough now that he’s started letting Sylvain come to him. He doesn’t mind, almost prefers it this way. It feels more domestic, less temporary. Sylvain’s visits are scheduled and part of their routine; there’s no need to make a fuss over them.

The wooden door opens with a creak as Sylvain steps in, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Felix is bent over his desk, quill moving furiously over a pile of documents. He’s muttering about something under his breath, and Sylvain pauses to take in the sight of him. “Hey, handsome.”

Felix’s head snaps up, some of the annoyance leaving his gaze. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“You could at least pretend to be happy to see me.” Sylvain crosses the room, leaving a day without Felix behind with each step he takes.

Felix returns his gaze to his paperwork. “Hm.”

Sylvain laughs, coming up beside Felix and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s late. Stop working.”

He can hear the roll of Felix’s eyes in his answering words. “You just want to get me into bed.”

“Can you blame me?” Sylvain touches a hand to Felix’s chin. 

Felix obligingly tips his head back, amber eyes narrowed slightly. “This needs to be done tonight. Ten more minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Sylvain leans down and kisses Felix, smiling at the small noise of approval Felix makes in the back of his throat.

He makes his way to the bed, throwing himself down onto it with a loud thump and waiting for Felix to finish up his work. It’s definitely longer than ten minutes, but eventually Felix sets down his quill and makes his way over to the bed, climbing in carefully and reclining next to Sylvain.

They’re facing each other, only a few inches apart. Felix curls one of his hands under his head, resting on it with a small, secret smile. Sylvain leans forward and kisses the tip of one of his fingers.

“Sap,” Felix scoffs.

“Yeah.” Sylvain smiles, and a faint blush appears on Felix’s cheeks. Sylvain kisses Felix, then draws back and takes a deep breath. “I need… to tell you something. I’ve been scared to, for a while now. But I want to.”

Felix looks up at him through his eyelashes, waiting. Sylvain closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then opens his mouth.

“I love you.” It’s the most important thing he’s ever said, and as soon as he speaks the words out loud he wants nothing more than to say them again. So he does, leaning forward and pressing a timid kiss to Felix’s forehead. “I love you.”

Felix closes his eyes, the hand he’s laying on curling to grip tightly at his pillow. “Sylvain…”

“I know,” Sylvain says. “I know.”

Felix doesn’t reply, but by now there’s no need. Sylvain will never understand another person this intimately, nor does he want to. Felix is it for him, forever.

There’s still an uncertainty to Felix’s expression that Sylvain quite frankly can’t accept. He kisses his forehead again, then the tip of his nose. Felix frowns, but doesn’t tell him to fuck off, and so Sylvain presses a kiss to each cheek. “I love you,” he says again. It’s easier, this time. 

He was so afraid to put a voice to his affection, but it appears that such worries were for naught.

“I…” Felix trails off, frowning. “I want to.” He sounds hesitant, almost scared.

“I love you.” It’s the only thing Sylvain knows how to say anymore. “You don’t have to say it back.”

Some of the tension seeps out of Felix, and he nods. “I will.” As always, Felix sounds like he’s fighting a battle. He doesn’t need to plant his flag in this declaration, but Sylvain appreciates it nonetheless.

“Thanks.”

Felix nods again. “You know I don’t like to say what I feel.”

A soft chuckle escapes Sylvian’s lips. “Yeah, I know.” He lets the silence hang between them for a long moment. It’s comfortable. He could make a home in it.

“But…” Felix gnaws at his bottom lip. “I’ll try.”

That’s all he can really ask. They’re both trying, and they’ll keep trying, for the rest of their lives, if they’re lucky. What more could he want?

Sylvain leans forward and finally kisses Felix. It’s gentle, with no expectation behind it. It’s every kiss he’s never had before - home and comfort and security. This isn’t about sex or desire. It’s about Felix.

He doesn’t think he needs much else.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr @edelgardlesbians or on twitter @edelgardlesbian !


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